


Trouble On the Way

by nirejseki



Series: Bad Moon Rising [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blow Jobs, Breeding, Bukkake, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dorks in Love, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Knotting, M/M, Manhandling, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Switching, Werewolf Culture, hints of possible mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9950606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: It occurs to Len that maybe he's been willfully ignoring reality when it came to Mick's new condition. Oh, sure, he'd done the basic research, the public stuff, but he'd been so determined not to make Mick feel like any more of a freak than he already did that he'd perhaps skimped a little on some of the details that were turning out to be more relevant than he'd originally thought.Time to fix that.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Will only make sense if you've read the first one, as it follows straight on it, but I think the first one is one of my best standalones, so I'm making this a sequel instead
> 
> An executive decision was made that (in the spirit of the first one) this series is going to be like 70% smut, because we can always use more of that in this fandom, so, uh, mind the warnings.

Mick ends up making the chocolate chip pancakes, too, and insisting that Len eat some of those as well.

Len tries to sulk while he eats, because Mick is, as usual, cheerfully obstinate about explaining any details about, well, _anything_ , but...it's very hard to convincingly sulk while eating chocolate chip pancakes piled high with whipped cream and maple syrup. 

_Not_ eating them when they're hot from the pan is, of course, unthinkable. 

When Len is all full up on breakfast, to the point where he is seriously considering rolling himself back to bed for a nice follow-up nap, Mick finally stretches and pads out of the kitchen to start putting on his boots. 

"Where are you going?" Len asks, twisting and frowning at him.

"Need to check out the various safehouses we’ve got," Mick says. "Full moon's coming up tomorrow."

"Is that going to be a problem?" Len asks. "You haven't needed the, uh..." He nods in the general direction of the old bank safe that they'd reserved for Mick's monthly complaint the first month or two. "...in a while, and you said you’d be better…?"

"Nah, nothing like that," Mick says. "Just some instinctual stuff. Don't worry about it. I'll be back in an hour or two."

"Okay," Len says, and waits for Mick to leave before going to get dressed himself. He gets the feeling that Mick intended for Len to stick around the house, lazing around the way he usually does after a night filled with adrenaline, but it occurs to him that he might have been willfully ignoring reality when it came to Mick's condition. Oh, sure, he'd done the basic research, the public stuff, but he'd been so determined not to make Mick feel like any more of a freak than he already did that he'd perhaps skimped a little on some of the details that were turning out to be more relevant than he'd originally thought.

Time to fix that.

He finds a WiFi hotspot with a public phone line he loop his burner phone into - three cheers for modern convenience - and dials the City Hall hotline.

"Welcome to Central City's supernatural service hotline," a perky recorded voice tells him. "We are happy to assist you with any supernatural issues you may be dealing with. If you're a homeowner concerned about the supernatural, press one." Len rolls his eyes. Of course they go first. "If you're a business owner looking for additional information about Central City's newly passed Supernatural Being Anti-Discrimination Act, or SBADA, please press two. If you've been recently transformed into -"

Len presses three. He didn't want the city's standard relax-its-fine patter; he wanted whatever the hell sort of intel it was that _Mick_ got. 

He ends up having to select werewolf out an increasingly bizarre list (vampire, sure, he gets, but he didn't even know you _could_ be transformed into a dryad or a selkie - though maybe that's just more anti-discrimination measures?) and then waiting to be transferred to another line. 

As he waits, he notices that some guy walking by is giving Len the eye. Like, he’s full on stopped walking and is staring, which, _rude_. Len knows he’s probably got a hell of a hickey (...hickies, plural, let's not lie to yourself, Leonard) from last night, which is probably what’s caught the guy’s attention, but _still_. Staring at Len like a yokel gawping at a tourist attraction is just not on. Len flips the guy off, making the man flush, cough a little, and skitter away. 

"Thank you for calling the Central City Supernatural Hotline, werewolf division," a pleasant tenor chirps in Len's ear, drawing his attention back. "My name is Dan. How recently did you suffer the bite and are you in need of immediate medical assistance?"

"I feel like that question’d work better if I hadn't had to navigate a message tree to get here," Len says automatically, then shakes his head. He's here for answers, not for snark.

"We're aware of that difficulty," the man - Dan? _Dan the werewolf_? Really? Talk about family-friendly packaging - says apologetically. "While there is a supernatural division of 911 designated for immediate calls, sometimes people call this number instead. Is everything presently all right on your end?"

"Uh, yeah," Len says. "It's been - a few months already. Four or five or so." Very nearly seven, actually, if you counted by moons. "I just had a couple of questions about, uh, social aspects?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Dan trills, sounding legitimately delighted. They've got some heavy-duty telemarketer training over there, that's all Len's saying. "If you've been turned for a few months, then you should definitely be feeling the werewolf's innate need to join a pack. We have several excellent options right here in Central City -"

"Let's say I'd rather not," Len cuts in hastily before the guy can do his whole spiel. 

“I would recommend against trying to stay on your own,” Dan says, in that irritating sympathetic voice people get when they think they know better than you but also that you’re only disagreeing with them because you’re poor, stupid and misguided. “As I’m sure you’ve realized, werewolves have extremely strong social instinct, much stronger even than regular humans. We’re not a species meant to live on our own. The pack instinct is one of the most dominating inclinations a werewolf can have outside of the moon, much stronger than either human or natural wolf instincts, and –”

"What if I wanted to start my own pack?" Len interrupts. “How’d I go about doing that?”

"Well, I wouldn't recommend that," Dan says, his voice notably less peppy. "It's a difficult and uncertain process, and -"

"Let's say I want to do it anyway. What happens?"

"Well, traditionally, self-started packs reflect natural wolf social standards, that of the family unit, which means you need to find a mate - and you must understand, it can't just be someone you're fond of, but someone strong and admirable that you can put first above all others -"

Well, so far, so good.

"- because the strength of a pack, you see, is judged a mix of two things: the power of the wolf and the strength of will of the mate, and that judgment can mean a lot of things for future social interactions with other packs, so it's really not a decision that ought to be entered into lightly. You have to think about the issues involved in taking a mate: commitment, for one thing; you don't want to commit to someone who isn't just as committed to you, especially in light of the changes that -"

"Yes, yes," Len says dismissively. He didn't really care what other changes Mick would undergo; Mick is his _partner_ , damnit. Len is as committed as you get. Besides, Mick had said he would be calmer and more controlled now, which was all to the good. "What happens next, after you pick one?"

"Well," and now Dan sounded quite dubious, "the next step involves setting up a territory, usually a house or apartment, and engaging in acts of territorial display of both the location and the mate in question - especially in the beginning when the mate will be particularly appealing to other competitors in the period before the final claim, the degree of attractiveness depending on the desirable qualities of the mate you’ve chosen – demonstrations of willpower and independence in particular being the most attractive – but that's less important, really, I feel we should go back to discussing the issue of selecting a mate in the first place, which absolutely should _not_ be done independently by a brand new wolf, without first bringing the intended mate in to talk with an established pack about the adjustments they will face -"

Len is _not_ going to drag his relationship with his partner, now thirty years running, to goddamn _City Hall_ for approval. Certainly not now that it’s apparently developed a sexual aspect, which they both seem to be pretty into and interested in continuing even now that the sorceress’ malediction has worn off. 

Well, _Len’s_ at least interested in continuing it, and judging from what Mick had promised over breakfast – plenty of pretty words about fucking Len till he couldn’t walk anymore, if Len recalls correctly – well, it sounded like he’s pretty interested in keeping it going, too.

"Got it," he says shortly. "Now, about mates, um - are there any sort of -" He hesitates a little, because he's not a shy man but he's in public and this is his and Mick's private business, but he's got to ask. "Are there any sort of unexpected _sexual_ elements -"

"This hotline is not available to appease prurient interests," Dan cuts in, his voice suddenly steely. "If you want additional details, I suggest that you come down to City Hall and ask for them from a wolf in person - though you may not survive the encounter, so I'd recommend against it. It is absolutely none of your business; you're clearly not even a werewolf."

"But -"

"Thank you very much for calling, and have a nice day."

Then there's dial tone. Len stares at the phone. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he says, disbelievingly. Fucking Dan just hung up on him. He got hung up on by a _hotline_. 

Well, _that_ was a waste of time.

He didn’t even get to ask if lycanthropy could be sexually transmitted.

Len shakes his head and turns around and standing right behind Len, creepy as anything, is that fucking guy who was staring earlier, staring again. His nostrils flare like he's trying to _smell_ Len or something, which is even creepier, and Len is taking a second to wonder how this guy snuck up on him, which is why the guy manages to stutter out, "Um, hi - I just -" and then he reaches out and _cups Len's cheek with his hand_.

What the fuck _no_. 

Len snaps his hand up and catches a finger of the hand on his face, bending it backwards to the point of near snapping, sliding his leg forward and using his bulk and the man's own momentum to spin the guy around and slam him face-first against the nearest wall, arm jerked around behind his back until it's straining painfully out of its joint and Len still twisting the man's hand. He does it in one smooth move, so the guy barely has time to yelp before his face meets concrete wall.

"Now you listen here," Len says, very calmly. "I don't know what you think are proper manners when coming up to a stranger on the street, but I'm going to say that you're a very lucky man. You see, I gotta get back home, or else I'd show you, _in detail_ , how inappropriate you were just being." He pulls the man's arm, forcing the man onto his tiptoes in an effort to reduce the strain, whimpering pitifully. "That being said, if I ever catch you just walking up to another person, any other person, that you don’t know and don’t know you and touching them like that again, you _will_ lose the hand you did it with. We clear?"

"Clear!" the man squeaks. 

"Good," Len says, voice still calm. Grabby assholes like this aren’t worth getting angry about, though he must admit that he hasn’t had to deal with them that much personally since his height first cracked six feet. "Then we're done here. No, wait -" He spins the man back around and slams his fist into the tender part of the man’s stomach, making the man retch and clutch at his midsection and fall back on his ass, back against the wall. Weakling. "- _now_ we're done. Keep the bruises as a reminder."

With that, he turns on his heel and stalks off in the direction of home, uncomfortably aware that the guy behind him on the ground - and a small handful of other people in the milling crowd - are staring after him. Not creepy-staring, at least; more "put in their proper place" staring or "unaccustomed to public violence" staring, but whatever. Still staring. Fuck _all_ of them.

Dan on the phone was basically useless, but he did say something about Mick being extra territorial for a bit, which means Len's got to get back to the safehouse before Mick realizes he's gone and starts burning things to relieve his anxiety.

Len was gone maybe thirty, forty minutes, tops, but Mick still beats him back home and is looking through the rooms of their safehouse with an anxious expression that eases when he sees Len. "Where'd you go?" his partner asks, stepping forward and pulling Len effortlessly into his arms, which is - unexpected, but rather nice, actually, the way Mick does it, all telegraphed motions and slow enough that Len can break away if he wants. Len can feel the tension from his earlier encounter seeping away into Mick's warmth. Mm, maybe he can ask for another massage. That is _definitely_ a relationship perk that Len is going to insist on keeping. 

"Nowhere important," Len says. "Wanted to jack the WiFi from somewhere that won't lead back to our safehouse, s’all." 

Mick puts a hand on his cheek, right where the other guy had it, and pulls Len into a kiss. A _hell_ of a kiss, too; it's messy and hard, just right, less a greeting than the promise of a _real_ good fuck later, Mick's hands sliding down to cup Len's ass and bend him backward a bit as Len puts his hands on Mick's arm and back and kisses back as hard as he can. 

Screw a good fuck _later_ , that’s a promise of a good fuck _now_.

Yeah, Len's definitely okay with this whole mate thing. Pancakes, massages, and Mick's total devotion - what's not to like? He can handle Mick being territorial for a while; honestly, he can't see it being _that_ different from usual. Even before the transformation, Mick was a possessive bastard, looming at Len's shoulder like a warning; back when they were in prison, especially in the beginning before Len had developed his reputation for viciousness and all people had to judge him on was his pretty face, Mick'd started fights over Len like that was his job.

Len chuckles a little at the memory and Mick breaks away. 

"What's so funny?" Mick says gruffly, his voice deep like it had been yesterday, sexual and hungry, and it sent a shiver of lust through Len's spine like he’d already developed Pavlov's dog reaction to it. Fuck Mick's voice; how does he get it to just the right timbre to bypass Len’s conscious mind and go straight to his cock? 

"Just thinking about being in the can, back in the early days," Len says. "You getting into that fight with the entire bleachers gang -"

"Yeah," Mick says, his voice getting _deeper_ , somehow, his eyes glazing over with memory. He presses up against Len and Len can feel how hard he is; looks like bringing up that memory is like touching a live wire for Mick's libido right now. " _Yeah_ , I remember that - they wanted your ass and I put them all down, every one of them, for even thinking of touching you -"

Territoriality, check. Len hides a smile; thank you, hotline Dan. 

Mick's pressing his mouth against Len's jawline and kissing along his cheek, like he's determined to cover every square inch of where his hand had been earlier. "Yeah," he says again. "Len - _Lenny_ -"

"Yeah?" Len says, rocking his hips back against Mick's, teasing them both with the glancing contact. It's been hours and hours since yesterday, and Len's sex drive has always been pretty high octane; he's ready to go again, definitely. All this talk of territory is revving him up as well - no one ever said Len wasn't a possessive bastard, too. No fucking City Hall pack taking away Mick, no sir, not while Len's around. He can handle this even without full information, so fuck you, hotline Dan.

"I want you," Mick says like it's not obvious.

"Sure," Len says agreeably, reaching down and cupping Mick's ass with both hands. "And how, exactly, do you want me?"

Okay, so the dirty talk yesterday _really_ worked for Len. So sue him.

"I'm gonna fuck your face," Mick says, eyes gleaming. "I'm gonna take you up to bed, gonna push you down and climb on top of you; you'll be lying back, head on the pillows, no leverage at all, hands trapped under my legs - you won't be able to do anything but take it, how and when I feel like giving it to you -"

Len groans and kisses Mick, filthy and wet and open-mouthed. "What're you waiting for, then?" he says goadingly. "Let's do that."

Mick slides his hands down and Len knows he's going to try to lift Len before he does it, so Len helps, sliding both legs up around Mick's waist, trusting Mick's enhanced strength to carry him, and fuck, he loves it, he loves how easily Mick hoists him up; he liked being pinned, being manhandled, back when he was a teenager and waiting for that final growth spurt, and no one'd ever managed it properly since. No one until Mick, and that was even better - the hands that supported him on every mission, in every endeavor, pulling him up and moving him however Mick pleased; the guy that had his back, the guy who always listened and was the very first person to ever call Len 'boss', now taking charge and taking control, taking anything he wanted and Len letting him because he _trusts_ him -

Len groans and starts working on a hickey on Mick's neck as well. Stupid werewolf healing probably meant it'd be gone within hours, but everyone on the street got to see that Mick had marked Len, so everyone should also see that Mick had been marked _by_ Len as well. A sign to everyone: this one is taken, this one is _mine_. Yeah, Len likes the sound of that. 

And if it fades, well, Len will just have to do it again. It's a sacrifice he's willing to make...

Mick carries Len to his bedroom - Mick's, not Len's, which Len doesn’t mind in the slightest - and they can't get their hands off of each other the entire time. Len's managed to get Mick's suspenders off, hanging down low by his hips, and his hands under Mick's shirt, and then Mick dumps him on the edge of the bed, pulling away to strip off. Len pulls the stuff out of his pockets and dumps it on the bedside table, peeling off his pants and stripping off his shirt and sweater - _why_ did he bother putting on so many layers again? - and he's just gotten naked when Mick is on him again, pulling him in for a kiss before pushing him back on the bed.

Len wiggles back until he's comfortable, his shoulders and neck supported by pillows, Mick watching him hungrily the entire time and then throwing a leg over him, settling down on Len's chest. Len's arms are pinned down by Mick's legs, just as Mick had said; he can run his hands along Mick's calves or the back of his thighs, but he can't get the leverage to escape, and he can't get free enough to touch himself at all.

Pinned down at Mick's mercy.

"You want my mouth?" Len says, looking up at Mick, who was so goddamn beautiful naked; his arms and chest and legs well-defined, muscles straining - real muscle, the sort you get from hard work and exercise, from lifting safes during heists and picking fights, and the slight plush curve of his stomach that Len had the sudden urge to run his cheek against, feeling the softness in contrast to the rest of Mick, warm and giving. And Mick's cock was big and heavy and hard and _right there_ , making Len's mouth water. "You gonna give it to me, Mick? Shut me up?"

"I like it when you talk," Mick says unexpectedly. "I like how fucking smart you are, even when sometimes you go on about it too long." He smirks. "It's great background filler."

"You _dick_ ," Len says fondly. 

"Yeah," Mick says. "Glad you noticed it; otherwise I might have to question your eyesight."

Len snickers. "Well, when the _evidence_ is right in front of me -"

"You know what, I think you’re right, it’s definitely time to shut up, Lenny," Mick says with a chuckle of his own. He reaches for Len's head, wrapping one hand around the side and using his other hand to thumb Len's mouth open. "Time to use that smartass mouth of yours for something more useful."

Len would retort, but Mick's fingers are sliding into his mouth, heavy on his tongue, and he opts to suck on them instead, laving them with his tongue as he does, his eyes looking up at Mick's face. Mick starts moving his fingers in and out a little, mimicking the act of fucking, and his face is rapt with attention. Like he can't get enough of watching Len. 

Len tries all the tricks he knows, using his tongue to show off what he'd do to Mick's cock if only he got a chance, but Mick keeps his fingers there instead, moving gently and infuriatingly slowly, until Len pulls back his head just the littlest amount the pillows allow him and Mick immediately removes his fingers in response. "Well?" Len pants, looking up at Mick. "You want my mouth or not? You just gonna play all day, or you gonna fuck me?"

Mick smirks and Len abruptly realizes that this is what Mick's been waiting for, that they've been playing a game of chicken and he hadn't even noticed. "You want my cock, huh?" Mick asks. "Is that what you want? My fingers not enough for you, huh? You need more? Gotta have more?"

"Yeah," Len says, because shame is useless to him when Mick is there instead, because Mick of all people will never use anything Len says against him. "Yeah, I want your cock, Mick, I want it in my mouth. I wanna taste you, I wanna suck you - I want my jaw to hurt 'cause I've been sucking you so long, 'cause I can't get enough of you; want to be on my knees or back for you all day, please, Mick, give it to me - let me blow you, let me suck you off - _please_ -" 

"Fuck," Mick breathes, eyes wide and cock twitching. So beautiful, Mick is, at the mercy of Len's voice even in a position where he has all the power. "Fuck, Lenny, you're so goddamn pretty when you beg for my cock -"

Len runs his hands over Mick where he can reach, looking up at Mick through his eyelashes. "C'mon, Mick," he coaxes. "Don't keep me waiting, don't keep me hanging - I want you to give it to me, I want you, I want your cock in my mouth -"

Mick groans and finally, _finally_ , slides forward, pushing Len's mouth open with his fingers - Len's happy to comply - and using his other hand to guide his cock in. Len hums happily and takes it, sucking as best as he can in this angle, but this position gives Mick all the power, all the control; he can move as slow or as fast as he likes. And he's chosen slow, torturously slow, fucking Len's face with gentle, rocking motions of his hips, giving Len just a taste of him. 

Len whines a little, wanting more, and Mick snarls with pleasure, thrusts changing until he's deeper, still moving slow but letting himself pull almost all the way out and the sliding in, big and relentless until Len's almost choking on him, would be choking on him if he hadn't gotten rid of his gag reflex years ago, practicing on other, lesser people. There's nothing Len can do, his own cock twitching untouched, his hips jerking futilely; he just lies there and takes it, takes whatever Mick wants to give him, and what Mick wants to give him is slow and intense and fuck, Len's going to go crazy -

Len's phone rings.

What the _fuck_.

Both Mick and Len stop where they are; Len can't even turn and stare incredulously at the phone like he wants to, his mouth still wrapped around Mick, but - _seriously_? Who the fuck is even calling?

Mick reaches over - the temporary change in angle making him slide in just that little bit deeper - and picks up the cell phone to look at the caller ID. 

Len would ask who it was, but, again, his mouth is stuffed full of cock. He expects Mick to hit ignore and get back to what they're doing, but unexpectedly Mick chuckles.

And then he _answers the phone_ , what the _hell_.

"Hi, Flash," Mick says, and then Len does actually choke a bit, mostly in surprise; shit, the Flash must be calling to arrange their post-fight download - normally Len calls him, not vice versa, but Len had totally forgotten about it today in light of pancakes and werewolf issues - 

Len tries to wiggle a little, trying to indicate to Mick with his eyebrows that Mick should pull out and give Len the phone, but Mick ignores him, reaching down with his free hand to wrap his fingers back around Len's head, and he starts moving his hips again, thrusting into Len's mouth in long, rolling thrusts just like Len likes. 

"No, Len can't come to the phone right now," Mick says into the cell. "He's a bit pinned down at the moment - "

Len can't _believe_ Mick sometimes. He isn't seriously -

Yes, yes he is.

The worst part of it, too, is that Len can feel his cock twitching at it, because he likes this, too; he likes the idea that Mick's talking to the Flash, casual as anything, while Len gags on his cock, sucking him off as best as he can. Fuck, and the Flash would have no idea, of course, just talking on the phone like normal, no idea that Len's pinned there and Mick's taking his mouth like it's his right, not unless he hears the slick sound of Mick's cock moving in and out of Len's mouth -

Len moans around Mick's cock, his voice muffled, and starts sucking again in earnest. 

"Yeah, he's all _filled up_ with other stuff today," Mick says into the phone, hips moving faster now. "Schedule's totally -" he thrusts in again "- _full_ , I'm afraid. And tomorrow's the moon, so I wouldn't recommend it - maybe the day after?" 

Len whines a little, knowing there's a risk the Flash could hear him - goddamn supernatural senses - and finding himself unable to care, the thought of it spurring him on, making him moan and whimper under Mick, suddenly vocal, and that just makes Mick go faster, too.

"Yeah, that'll work," Mick says, voice straining a little to keep his calm. "I'll tell him. He'll call you. Yeah, sounds good. Bye."

He pulls the phone away from his ear and clicks the end call button with a vicious jab of his finger, throwing Len's phone carelessly across the room a second later. 

"You liked that, didn't you?" he growls, voice making Len's hips jerk up helplessly in automatic response. "You liked moaning and whimpering like that, liked the idea of him hearing you, hearing how much you want me, how much you're _mine_ \- you don't care, you're shameless, you'd be on your knees for me in a heartbeat, no matter who's around, you'd let me push you over the bar at Saints, let me have you right there where everyone can see, show them all that you belong to me, that you want _me_ \- me and nobody else -"

Len keens a little. Yes, yes, Len's _Mick's_ , whatever Mick wants, _yes_ -

" - yeah, you can't keep off of me, can you?" Mick says, and his voice is ragged, breath coming hard. "You can't stay away, you _need_ me, my Len, my Lenny - you're all mine, body and soul, my _mate_ , and no one else gets to touch you - just me, whenever I want, however I want, and you'll let me do anything I want because you want me that fucking much -"

He pulls out of Len's mouth abruptly, wrapping his hand around himself and starting to jerk himself off. "Gonna come on your face," he pants. "Gonna mark you up, gonna show everyone you're mine -"

"Yeah," Len says, voice raspy. "Yeah, Mick, all yours, always yours, anything you want, because you're mine, too -"

He closes his eyes and opens his mouth, and with a grunt Mick comes, spurting on Len's lips, Len's cheeks, and Len lets his tongue flick out to catch some because it makes Mick groan, makes him pump out a bit more until Len's dripping with it. Definitely more than a human would produce, Len thinks to himself, and then Mick's thumb is there, rubbing it into Len's cheek.

"Show them," Mick mutters to himself, sounding almost dazed. "I'm gonna show them you're mine - they shouldn't touch you, how _dare_ they touch you -"

The man from earlier, Len suddenly realizes; Mick must've smelled his hand or something. He can't help but smirk - if this is what it gets him, then maybe Len shouldn't have been so mean to the man.

Nah. Creepster deserved it.

Mick leans down and kisses Len, hard, possessive. Len's breathing hard when Mick pulls back. 

"You know," Len pants, "I think we're forgetting something important here."

Mick draws back a little, letting Len prop himself up on his elbows. "How's that?" he asks, starting to smirk a little.

"Yeah, _me_ ," Len says tartly. "Only one of us got off just now, if you remember."

"Oh, I remember," Mick says, his smirk growing wide and wolfish. He rolls off of Len onto his side on the bed, running a lazy hand down Len’s torso teasingly.

"Well?” Len prods, pointedly arching his hips up a little. “You going to _do_ something about it?"

Mick’s hand goes lower and lower and right as he gets an inch away – "Nope."

"Nope?!” Len yelps. “What do you mean, _nope_?" 

"I mean, nope," Mick says, and stretches lazily. Len's protest catches in his throat as he watches Mick, glorious in his nudity. 

Well, if Mick won't offer a hand for some reason known only to him, at least he provides a hell of a visual. Len's been jerking it to Mick on the down low for years anyway; Mick sated and post-coital is even hotter than he imagined it being. 

But as Len reaches for himself, Mick catches his wrist. 

"Mick," Len says warningly.

"Nope," Mick says, smirking. 

"I wanna get _off_ , Mick," Len says, aware that he's perilously close to whining.

"But you're not going to," Mick says confidently. "My werewolf metabolism means I'm gonna be ready to go again in a couple of hours, but if you get off now, you'll be too tired for more than one other round today. So you're going to keep your hands to yourself like a good boy, and I'll let you ride my cock later on."

Len swallows. "You make it sound like something we wouldn't do anyway," he says haughtily, but unfortunately he's naked and Mick can see the way his cock jumped a little at his words, which Len is choosing to ascribe to his stupid Pavlov's dog reaction to Mick's voice.

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you later," Mick says agreeably. "That's not in question. Full moon's tomorrow, and I'm going to spend all night and day fucking you till you forget your own name. But I want it to be good for you, so if you just be good for a few more hours, till the sun sets, I'll let you set the speed for the first round, let you crawl up into my lap like the needy thing you are and make me give it to you as long and as hard as you like. Or you can jerk off now. The choice is all yours." 

He leans in close, his eyes fixed on Len's, face close enough that Len can feel his breath. "How's it gonna be, Lenny? You gonna be a good boy for me?"

"Yeah," Len breathes, and Mick kisses him like a reward. 

Then he pulls away and gets up out of bed. "I'm going to pack our stuff," he says. "I've decided - as much as I like this place, lots of nice memories already - that the house on Sullivan will be most appropriate for the full moon this month."

The house on Sullivan is in the rich man's district, empty for the summer as they flee to cooler climes. It's a long abandoned house, ugly as sin on the outside but sweet as hell on the inside. It's got a king sized bed, soft as a cloud.

"Okay," Len says. "Sullivan is fine."

Mick pads towards the door.

"Hey, Mick," Len says. Mick looks back, raising his eyebrows. "How will you know if I've listened to you or not?"

Mick smirks. "I'll smell it on you. Like I said, Lenny; choice is all yours." 

Len watches him go, then looks down. He's hard enough for it to start to ache with the need for release, between the events of yesterday and today, and he's never gone without unless circumstances meant he had to. Besides, it's not like Mick won't fuck him either way, and it's not like he _needs_ a particular position or -

Fuck.

Fucking Mick and his way of finding kinks Len didn't even know he had. Len wouldn't put up with this shit if it wasn't Mick, but Mick has a way of making it seem like it would be worth it and damnit, Len actually does trust him that it _will_ be worth it.

Len rolls out of bed, and pulls on his pants grumpily. 

Len’d never tell anyone, but the smile Mick gives him when he joins him in the packing is worth it already.


	2. Moon Eve

They put their stuff in a car and move to the house on Sullivan, Len keeping an eye on Mick as it gets closer to moonrise. The benefits of being with a pack are definitely showing: Mick's calmer than he usually is, less angry. Normally by this time they would have already locked themselves indoors, Len putting on something for Mick to watch, some documentary or another, and letting him pace and hit the walls until he made a game-time decision as to whether he needed to be locked into a room or if he thought he could handle the transformation free and clear.

Werewolf transformations are only really _necessary_ on the night of the full moon – while humans typically perceive three days of fullness, wolves are more discerning. Sure, they _can_ transform the rest of the time, especially when it’s close, but that’s the only day they really _have_ to. Len’d been playing it cautious and keeping Mick inside for all three whenever he can, purely out of concern for Mick’s temper, but he's been easing up on it as time goes on and, as he’s said, Mick’s in a startlingly good mood this month.

Mick’s also more inclined to find excuses to touch Len than usual, but that happens every month. Probably the social instinct Mick mentioned rearing its head; Len wasn’t stupid enough to let himself into that bank vault with a fully transformed wolf, but the days before and after, he could always count on Mick finding a reason to sit right next to Len or to appear right by Len’s side to help him sit or stand up from any given degree of reclining, no matter how unnecessary the help was. Len’s not particularly surprised to find those tendencies seem to have been amplified now that they're knocking boots in addition to the other components of partnership. 

Plus, it means that Mick is happy to take over the majority of the heavy lifting involved in moving their stuff if it means he can hand the box to Len, stroking his hand each time, for Len to actually put into the car. So, really, Len doesn’t particularly mind.

He _is_ a little concerned about the fact that their otherwise unremarkably moving-of-boxes-of-stuff-to-the-car seems to have garnered something of an audience of nosy neighbors, which this neighborhood isn’t particularly known for.

The neighbors - if they are neighbors, which Len's not entirely sure about - are _trying_ to be subtle: a few are leaning on doorways, some are pretending to read newspapers, one is even pretending to be throwing away garbage with almost painful slowness, but Len’s got a sense of his surroundings fine-tuned to unexpected prison fights and he knows when someone is watching him. Staring at him. 

Len could take out his gun, but then they’d know for a fact it was Captain Cold they were looking at, and since Len rather likes this particular safehouse, he’d rather not have that get around. So instead he waits until Mick’s gone back inside to grab their coats and turns to stare at the whole lot of them – there’s got to be at least ten – with his best murder-face glare.

He stares at the first one to the far left, waits until the guy looks up and makes eye contact before flinching away, then moves his gaze to the next one, a woman, and then the next one after that, making absolutely certain that they know he knows they’re watching him and trying to convey with his eyes that if they don’t stop, he will find them in their beds and murder them brutally.

Most of them slink away like dogs with their tails between their legs. One just stands and gapes like a dumbass, and Len starts seriously considering going to go punch his lights out when the light bulb goes off and the guy dashes away. 

Sadly, that probably has more to do with Mick walking up right behind Len and throwing a casual arm over his shoulders as he effortlessly shoves the box with their coats in it into the trunk of the car. Some people just can’t accept no for an answer without seeing that someone’s already taken, Len guesses, but he’s honestly a little befuddled by the fact that this is happening to _him_. Sure, Mick’s bigger and stronger and meaner looking, but Len’s no delicate flower.

“That was weird,” Len comments to Mick, sliding into the passenger seat.

Mick shrugs. “It happens even in the best neighborhoods –” By which Mick means the worst and most unfriendly. “– but fuck ‘em.”

Len shrugs and nods his agreement. Assholes like that aren’t worth the time spent thinking about them.

Still. Kinda weird.

“We’re probably going to be inside most of tomorrow,” Mick says, interrupting Len’s train of thought. “It being the moon and all. But after that, we really need to start talking about which safehouse we’d like to stick with more long term.”

“Oh?” Len asks. This sounds like more of the territoriality stuff that hotline Dan had been talking about – something about a desire to show off your place, “acts of territorial display”, which obviously wouldn’t work for the two of them because of the whole criminal-on-the-run thing –

“Yeah, it’s fine if we move around ‘cause the CCPD’s on our tail, but I need a place, _one_ place, that I can say is _mine_. Somewhere we can really sink our roots down and defend from attack, if need be – old instinct stuff, back when wolves lived in dens. S’why I went to go look at all the safehouses today, but I couldn’t figure out which one would be best. What do you think?”

Len gnaws on his lower lip. Mick needs a place that’s defensible but also comfortable – on one hand, if Mick’s seriously thinking of expanding their little pack of two with some other wolves wandering around, then they’d need a meeting place _anyway_ , somewhere with plenty of space. On one hand, that old bank vault on Thompkins would be useful for controlling anyone with a temper, but on the other hand, they’d need to find a way not to let themselves be driven away from it in the end, because Len can’t even imagine how bad Mick’s reaction would be to losing a place he had declared to be his own territory, and Thompkins Street is in a district that the politicos are always talking about renewing…

Actually, _speaking_ of urban renewal – 

“What about Birch?” he asks, naming the little place they’d been staying the day before yesterday, before Len had brought them back to Thompkins with its bank vault instead. It was one of their habitual favorites, being as the previous owner had been some sort of restauranteur and the kitchen took up nearly half the house before the guy had sold it all and moved out of the city – supernatural flight, they called it. 

“I took a look there,” Mick admits. “I like the kitchen – four ovens is _definitely_ the right number –”

“No one needs four ovens,” Len immediately says, falling back into the familiar argument.

“And I love the cellar there – do you know how hard it is to find a good sealed-up cellar that can be turned into a freezer room for meat in this city? Harder than you’d think – but it’s only got two bedrooms and one office other than that kitchen. Not really enough room.”

It’d always been enough room for the two of them, plus occasional visits from Lisa to crash in their office, but as Len suspected, Mick’s thinking of expansion.

“Yeah, that place is pretty tiny,” he says. “But we could knock down the walls and expand into the next few houses, one on each side. The place next door has a cellar, too – we could use the one in the main house for keeping your precious meat at the right temperature –”

“Given your theme, Lenny, I don’t think you have any right to complain about something being the _right temperature_ –”

“Shut up. We could use the main house cellar for meat, and the one in the next house over for moons that go bad, especially if we might be dealing with new wolves.”

Mick’s quiet for a long moment, so Len turns to look at him, wondering if he said something wrong.

Mick’s _beaming_. 

“What?” Len asks suspiciously.

“No, nothing,” Mick says. “Just – I’m real glad you’re on board with the pack thing. Real glad.”

“Of course I am,” Len replies, rolling his eyes and turning back to watching the road. “Partners, remember? You want a pack, you get a pack.”

“ _We_ get a pack,” Mick corrects.

“Naturally,” Len says. “I’m the boss, remember? I run the best jobs in Central City ‘cause I know how to pick the best possible crews; I’m sure between the two of us we can gather up the best possible pack.”

“The _best_ pack,” Mick says, his voice dropping to a pleased growl. “Yeah, Lenny. We’ll have the best territory, the best pack. You and me.”

Len can’t help a smile, because _hell yes_ , you and me. He pokes at Mick’s arm. “Even if we do end up collecting ourselves a new pack, they’d damn well answer to me,” he says warningly. “I don’t give a flying fuck about any type of werewolf superiority bullshit. My crews listen to _me_.”

“You’re the boss,” Mick says, but he’s still beaming, so Len figures it’s okay. Mick won’t ever bring anyone into the crew that Len doesn’t approve of. “But at least one person I’m thinking of might have some issues with that.”

Len arches an eyebrow.

“Your sister?”

Len huffs a surprised laugh. It hadn’t occurred to him, but it’s obvious, of course. _Naturally_ Lisa’d be part of their pack. “Yeah, well, I’ll make _sure_ she knows she has to listen to me if she’s gonna stick around,” he says with far more confidence than he actually feels. Lisa’s very much her own woman. But he’s not letting her run around in Central and risk her running into something like what he and Mick ran into, a mad werewolf out for blood; without a Mick of her own, she might end up dead instead of just different. No, Len will definitely have to lay down the law this time around.

Might even stick for more than a week this time, too.

Well, a brother can always hope.

“You know, fights for dominance are considered very attractive in the supernatural arena,” Mick says, and Len tears his focus away from planning the inevitable confrontation with Lisa to look at his partner, who is looks deeply smug for some reason. “Not sure if it’s something tied into the animal or into the supernatural itself, but all the old bullshit about showing off how good you are, how powerful, how clever, how quickly you can put down dissent inside your pack and establish your right to command, all that stuff? Totally a _thing_ , if you know what I mean.”

“Is that why you like all those Animal Planet documentaries?” Len jokes, not entirely sure where this is going. 

“Probably,” Mick admits gamely. “I’m just saying that I’m _really_ looking forward to it.”

Len shrugs. Mick being excited about getting to go fight people is hardly news, backed by supernatural instinct or not. He’s not sure why Mick is smiling so proudly at him about it.

Maybe it has something to do with hotline Dan’s line of crap about wanting to “show off” a mate? Mick wanting to start fight over _Len_ is hardly news, either, but Len doesn’t usually give him an opportunity, either because Len’ll put them down first himself or because he doesn’t go out as much as Mick likes. If Mick behaves this full moon – and by behaves, Len means _gets Len off already damnit_ , and ideally not too much property destruction – maybe Len’ll let him take them out to Saints or even to one of the more supernatural bars and Len will start fights and let Mick finish them.

Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

“We can go bar hopping when the moon’s waning,” Len says aloud, nodding to himself. “Saints to meet the Flash, of course, but after that, we can go to the supe bars and start a few fights.”

“I like the sound of that,” Mick growls, clearly pleased.

See, Len doesn’t need _magic pancake-making skills_ to make his partner happy. 

“Well, you live up to your promises from yesterday and we’ll have plenty to fight people about,” Len says with a smirk, reaching up to stroke one of the hickeys Mick left high on his throat. You wouldn’t think that people would still be homophobic – there are _supernatural creatures_ running around and they’re still worried about who sleeps with who, which clearly demonstrates the epic stupidity of mankind – but Len finds he rather likes the thought of Mick stepping up behind him and making _clear_ where the marks came from.

Mick whines, high in his throat, and Len realizes he may have said that last bit aloud. 

He smirks. 

“You’re doing this to screw with me,” Mick says accusingly, mock-scowling at Len.

“ _One_ of us got off so far today,” Len reminds Mick. “ _One_.”

Mick goes back to smirking faster than the Flash’s lighting strikes. “Yeah,” he says. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed how good you’re being. For _me_.”

Len readjusts himself, because he still finds that unbearably hot, and glares. “Better make the wait worth my while,” he drawls, nice and slow and deliberate. “Or else –”

“Or else _what_ ,” Mick says, voice abruptly low, lower than human timbres can reach.

Len’s playing with fire and he knows it, but fire is Mick’s element. Len can’t help loving it as much as he loves Mick. 

“Oh, nothing,” he drawls, deliberately slouching down and looking out the passenger side window. “I’m not saying anything.”

He lets one hand fall down till it’s high up on his own thigh. 

“You’re saying _something_ ,” Mick growls.

“What can I say?” Len says with a shrug, rubbing his hand up and down his leg, careful to obey Mick’s instructions not to actually touch himself but coming perilously close. “If _you_ aren’t keeping me satisfied, then –”

Mick literally spins the car off the street with a screech of squealing tires and into a parking spot, reaching out and grabbing a smirking Len in for a kiss the second they’re standing still.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” Mick growls between kisses, his lips against Len’s, then moving down to lap at the hickey Len’d been stroking earlier, one of his hands falling down to cup Len’s cock through the denim of his jeans. “You little _tease_.”

Len laughs, his voice a little thready as his hips jerk up only to be caught fast by the seatbelt. “You know you’re the only one for me,” he drawls, but the real affection sneaks in there anyway.

“No one else,” Mick says, trying to sound threatening, but Len’s known Mick too long not to catch the little hint of insecurity underneath. Mick’s always been quietly worried that Len will trade up; he worries that he’s not intellectual enough, not smart enough, not quick enough, too undisciplined, too _crazy_. 

“You’re my _partner_ ,” Len says firmly, because he’s never wanted someone else, not as a partner. Mick’s not talking about physical devotion, the sexual relationship that they’ve started on, because as fun as that is, it doesn’t matter; no, Mick’s talking about the important stuff. The stuff you stick around for. It’s not just habit, sticking with Mick, the way Mick sometimes seems to think it is. Mick’s the perfect complement to Len: he’s comfortable with people in a way Len will never be, he’s as good as Len at identifying a mark and even better at making deals, he burns hot but cools down fast, unlike Len’s tendency to keep grudges forever, and he’s strong, inside and out, in a way that would burn Len up inside with envy if Mick wasn’t so good about _sharing_ that strength. So what if he’s not as quick with a quip or doing his figures as someone else might be? “Why would I need anybody else? And anyway –” He lets his voice trail away meaningfully.

“Anyway what?” Mick asks, stroking Len through his jeans. 

“It’s not just partners anymore, is it?” Len asks. “It’s _mates_.”

Len still doesn’t fully understand what that means to werewolves, but he must be getting close to putting his finger on it, because he finds himself up against the window being kissed breathless before he can even blink. 

After a second, Mick pulls away, and his eyes are glowing a little, not quite yellow yet but definitely not entirely human, his pupils dilated with lust. “We’re going to the house on Sullivan,” he says, his voice rough. “We’re going _now_. I made you a promise, and I’m going to _keep it_.”

Len wants to whine a little when Mick pulls his hands away and puts them back on the wheel – when did Mick develop self-control? Clearly around the time Len totally misplaced his own – _so not fair_ – but leans against the window instead. “You do that,” he says, pleased that his voice remains cool. 

Besides, Mick’s right. It’ll be more fun in a bed. Especially _that_ bed. 

If they’re going to settle down, Len’s going to have to find a way to get the bed from the Sullivan house moved into the house on Birch, or something like it. 

Much to Len’s amazement, they make it to the safehouse relatively intact. Len jumps out to wire open the garage and Mick brings the car in.

“Bring the stuff inside, will you?” Len tells Mick, opting to head inside himself.

He can here Mick grumbling behind him, but also the sound of the car being popped open.

Len smiles.

He’s been enjoying what they’ve been doing so far, and yes, even the obedience to Mick’s orders that he wait to get off, but really – 

Mick should know better than to give Len time to _plan_.

By the time Mick realizes that Len’s not waiting for him downstairs and comes upstairs – probably to bitch about how goddamn lazy Len can be, making Mick do all the work just because he’s a werewolf and has supernatural strength – Len’s in place.

“Fuck,” Mick says, coming to a dead stop in the doorway to the bedroom.

Len doesn’t have a stitch on him, clothing neatly piled in the corner, and he’s lying back on the bed, pillows under his back to prop him up; he’s working himself open with one hand, keeping his legs splayed open so Mick has a great view from where he’s standing.

He can’t quite keep the flush from rising up on his cheeks, though – less from the actual physical stimulation, which he’s been doing more in a utilitarian fashion than in a way designed to get himself off, than from the way Mick looking at him.

Looking _hungry_. 

Len had hoped, of course, that Mick would react positively to his little surprise, but he’s just plain old not used to someone looking at him like that, like Len’s the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. He’s not used to the idea of _Mick_ looking at him like that, those familiar eyes alight with lust and affection, and all of it _his_.

Yeah. Len’s definitely okay with this whole ‘mate’ thing.

“God, Len,” Mick says, coming towards the bed like he can’t resist. “Look at you. Just – look at you.”

“All yours,” Len says, and watches with pleasure as Mick’s pupils dilate, eyes going a little black with lust. “But you know what else?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re also _mine_ ,” Len says, still working his fingers into himself, acts mostly for show as Mick’s eyes are drawn irresistibly down. “Now strip for me.”

Mick swallows hard, nodding and starting to pull his clothing off quickly.

When he’s naked – and god, he’s glorious, naked and hard and wanting, Len’s amazed it took them so long to get here – Len smirks. “Good,” he purrs. “Now I think you made me a promise. Get on the bed.”

Mick crawls onto the bed, leaning in for a kiss, which Len grants him, nice and dirty and messy, before shoving him down onto the bed and crawling over him. “My turn to be in charge,” he tells Mick smugly. “Just like you promised.”

Mick groans and fists the bedspread. “Fuck, Len,” he says. “How are you this perfect?”

“Practice,” Len quips, and reaches out to wrap a hand around Mick’s cock.

Mick lets his head loll back, but he keeps his eyes fixed on Len as Len positions himself and slowly sinks down, grunting with pleasure as he does. 

“Len – _Len_ –”

“I like this,” Len says, letting his eyelids drift down, letting the pleasure he feels show on his face. “I like being all filled up with you, stuffed full with your cock – just like I ought to be –”

“ _Len_ …”

Len hums a little, then starts moving on top of Mick. “You like it too,” he says. “You’ve been liking it, being in charge, ain’t you? You like how you’ve had me the last day – begging for you, on my knees for you, on my back for you, like I can’t get enough of you – like I’m wanting you, needing you like I need water, like I need _air_ –”

Mick whines, low in the back of his throat. His eyes aren’t black anymore, no; they’re yellow points of light, shining in the dark, the wolf starting to come forward.

“But you need me just as much, don’t you,” Len purrs. His legs are strong enough that he doesn’t need to brace himself on Mick, but he leans forward anyway, lifts a hand and cups Mick’s cheek, kisses him lightly.

“Len,” Mick pants.

“Now, I’ve been letting you call the shots,” Len says, starting to move faster, letting the stretch and burn turn to pleasure. “I’ve been letting you pick me up, play with me, do with me as you like – and you like that, don’t you, like having me at your mercy, like me being _available_ to you, anytime, anywhere – to do anything you want with me, and me loving every minute of it –”

Mick’s eyes are wide and fixed firmly on Len’s face.

“– and I like it, too,” Len continues, lips curling up in pleasure, his eyes crinkling with his smile, his hips moving faster, bearing down on Mick. “I like it when you take charge of me, like it when you give me orders, like how you _make_ me like it, like being at your mercy, ‘cause I trust you to take good care of me, like you ought to – like you _do_ –”

Mick nods dumbly, his hands still fisted into the bedspread, hips jerking helplessly up.

“But there’s one thing you need to remember,” Len says.

And then he stops moving entirely, using his weight to force Mick’s hips still. 

“ _Len_!” Mick cries out. 

Len smirks and leans forward until they’re only inches apart. “I may like being yours, Mick,” he purrs. “But in the end – _I’m_ the boss.”

It wouldn’t work if Mick really wanted to keep moving, of course; Len’s human strength nothing against the force of the supernatural, but – as he suspected – Mick stops moving the second he realizes that Len isn’t responding anymore.

“Len,” Mick gasps, and oh, revenge is sweet; it’s so sweet. “Lenny – _please_ – you gotta –” 

“Isn’t this what you promised me?” Len asks, as innocently as he can manage. It’s not much, to be fair. “You said if I’d be good, if I could wait, I could – how did you put it – you said I could crawl into your lap, and _make_ you give it to me, didn’t you? ‘cause you know how much I need you – how much I _want_ you – and this is how _I_ want you –”

“Len,” Mick says, and his eyes are wholly yellow now. “You don’t understand. It’s too close – the moon –”

“You said we’d be fucking all day,” Len says, though he does take pity on his partner and start moving again, though at a nice slow roll of his hips. “I don’t think the moon’s going to be a problem.”

“It’s not that – it’s the wolf – you don’t understand – won’t be able to keep it down much longer, can’t hold it back –” 

“And what made you think I want you to hold back, exactly?” Len drawls.

“Len – I don’t wanna scare you, Lenny –”

And with that, Len’s plans for vengeance – albeit pleasurable vengeance – disappear into the ether. 

“Oh, _Mick_ ,” Len says, almost tenderly, as close to loving as he can manage with his scarred-up old heart of ice. He reaches out and runs his thumb on Mick’s brow, under his eye; drags it down until it’s by Mick’s mouth, dragging it over Mick’s teeth, both the ones that are flat and human, and the ones that have already lengthened, too long for any man, too large for Mick’s human jaw. “You’re my partner – my _mate_. You really think there’s _anything_ that’ll scare me away _now_?”

Mick opens his mouth, but Len leans forward, presses their lips together. He’s not sure why, but the kiss – he’d been aiming for something sexy, but it turns strangely soft, kiss following kiss, Len’s hands coming up to hold Mick’s head, Mick’s hands curling over Len’s hips to help keep his balance. 

“I want you,” Len says between kisses. “I want _you_. You think you’re the only one who’s territorial, huh? Just ‘cause you’re a wolf and I ain’t? Well, I’ve got some news for you, Mick – all that talk about me being yours? It goes both ways. I want _all_ of you – man and wolf, territory and permanent home and new pack, _all of it_. And you're gonna _give it to me_.”

Mick growls, and the sound isn’t human, and Len smiles.

Then he grunts as Mick surges under him, hoisting Len up and off of him like he weighs nothing, flipping him until his back thumps onto the mattress, pushing Len’s legs up onto his shoulders and driving back inside.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Len gasps, the air punched out of him.

“You know just what to say,” Mick says, and his voice is low, guttural – _inhuman_. “You’re perfect – my _mate_ – stronger than anyone else, because you’re a stubborn little _shit_ that doesn’t know when to stop playing with fire –”

“Nah,” Len says, because he might be being fucked, hard and fast and perfect, might barely be able to draw a full breath because Mick’s pounding into him, causing him pleasure, overwhelming pleasure, but he would never be able to resist a line like that. “I think you’ll find _you’re_ the one who plays with fire – I’m the one with the cold gun, remember –”

“I shouldn’t have told you, earlier,” Mick says, and, fuck, is he getting _larger_? He _is_ , he’s shifting, bones cracking, and Len didn’t notice it the first time, too busy getting fucked against the wall under the moon, but he sure as hell notices it _now_ , feels Mick swell up even larger, his cock getting bigger and heavier even as he moves inside of Len, his whole body expanding as he lets himself transform. This is what Mick was holding back, why his hands curled around the bedspread instead of Len’s hips – hiding growing claws, no doubt. “About dominance displays, how hot they make me. You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?”

Well.

Maybe a little.

Len can’t help the grin that steals over his face.

“You fucker,” Mick says, and his yellow eyes shine in his face even as he smiles with a mouth filled with sharp teeth. “You want me to fuck you? I’ll fuck you.”

“Thought that’s what we were doing,” Len says, and groans when Mick pulls out of him, pushing Len onto his side and then his stomach, positioning him the way he wants him like a doll.

Len barely has to time to adjust before Mick’s in him again, Len on his knees and his face pushed into the pillow. He turns his face to the side, and oh, yeah, he likes this.

But he’s still himself. 

“You like this position, huh?” he asks, aiming for jabbing and coming out mostly breathless, airy, intensely amused. “Wolves like doing it doggy style?”

Mick laughs. “It’ll be easier for you,” he says, and his voice is smug again, because he knows he’s in charge again, that the balance of power has shifted. Knows that Len loves being at his mercy. 

“Oh, it’s all for me, huh?” Len says, moving back against Mick. He’s barely touched himself, but he’s close, he’s _really fucking close_ , and Mick had damn well better get him off, and soon. 

“It’s always for you,” Mick says, and leans down close until Len can feel his hot breath on the back of his neck. “You want me, wolf and all, huh?”

“Yeah,” Len says. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then you’ll get it,” Mick says. “I’ll take you the way you’ve been begging me too.” His hands are on Len’s hips. “I was planning on waiting for it, you know, building up to it, prepping you properly, but you always have to move at your own speed, don’t you?”

“ _Always_ ,” Len says, even though he’s not entirely sure what Mick’s talking about. It’s not like they aren’t already fucking.

“I want you so much,” Mick says, and his voice is deep and perfect and how is he making so much _sense_? Len can barely think. “I’ve been yours since the beginning, you know that, right? Since before I got bit, and getting bitten only made it worse. I’ve been wanting – I’ve been _dreaming_ of it –”

His voice cracks, just a little. 

Looks like Mick’s not _that_ unaffected. 

“Wanted you, wanted to do this to you, but never thought you’d let me –”

“Don’t think there’s much I wouldn’t let you do,” Len says honestly, even though he knows it’s a dangerous thing to say. All but offering his heart on a platter, but they’ve already exchanged much more – trust has always meant more than love, to men such as them.

Mick grunts and his hips work faster, and then – _finally_ – he reaches around to Len, starts jerking him off, and god, it’s scarcely even pleasure, it’s _relief_ , it’s –

Mick suddenly surges forward, and stops.

“ _Mick_!” Len howls, because payback is payback, but that’s just not _fair_ – but no, Mick stopped moving, but Len can still feel him, can still feel him –

Growing? 

“Mick?” Len gasps, because this doesn’t feel like before, like Mick getting larger as he shifts. This is lower, a swelling at the base, pressing against Len like – he’s not sure, but he’s heard – but no, someone would have mentioned – someone would have _said_ –

Mick nuzzles Len’s neck. “You’re gonna love it,” he says, and his voice is cracked and open, half incoherent with lust. “Gonna love it, Lenny – gonna be begging for my knot –”

Len swallows and his cock jumps a little in Mick’s hand, because his cock is fucking stupid. “You’ve got a _knot_?!” he asks, because damnit, this is something the stupid hotline really should’ve mentioned!

“Wolf’s got instincts,” Mick says, still nuzzling into Len’s throat. “Got instincts, like I told you – gotta keep you safe, gotta take care of you – gotta make sure I’m the only one – gotta knot you, fill you up, so no one else can come and take you –”

“No one’s gonna _take_ me –”

“Gotta take care of you,” Mick pants. “Keep you full, keep you _happy_ – keep you _mine_ – all my instincts screaming at me, telling me to do good by you –”

“Nice instincts,” Len says, and he’s so close, he’s so close – Mick’s hand is moving on his cock, the other pressed against his stomach, and the knot is so goddamn good, thick and hot and pressing against Len in all the right places, pinning him down and keeping him Mick's, marking him in a way that no human can, that no one ever has before and no one will ever again, and fuck, he’s so _close_ –

“No one’s taking you from me,” Mick growls in his ear. “ _Never_.”

And then Mick’s coming, Len can feel it, and it’s more than it was yesterday, filling him up, until he can imagine that Mick would be able to feel it pushing against his hand – he knows that’s ridiculous, but hell, why not, it’s hot as _fuck_ , and then he’s coming, too, coming on Mick’s fucking _knot_ , and yeah, this is probably going to be a thing to add to his list of stupid kinks – all Mick’s fault, every last fucking one of them –

He practically whites out when the orgasm hits. 

When he comes down, Mick’s still big and swollen inside of him, still twitching, still spurting. 

“My legs are gonna be useless tomorrow,” Len says, mostly because it gets Mick to whimper and grind his hips in a little bit more. He's not done coming; Len can still feeling him, every couple of minutes, another twitch and another spurt of hot wet heat inside of him.

Len’s pretty sure the knot should be starting to be painful, instead of pleasurable – the way things usually get once you’ve come – but he feels strangely floaty, stretched open and full. It feels _good_. 

Mick buried deep inside of him, tying them together, swollen and coming, again and again – claiming him, filling him –

Fuck it all. 

Mick was right. 

Len _does_ love it.


	3. the full moon

Len’s slow to wake, for once. 

He feels good – everything feels good – like the best sort of wet dream, hot and tight and perfect, the feeling of a warm, broad hand on his cock, not urgent but pleasant, a slow build, it slipping away to be replaced by the feeling of something filling him up when he’s lying languid and sleepy and –

Wait.

Len blinks awake.

That _isn’t_ a dream.

“ _Mick_ ,” he groans, and Mick laughs behind him as he rocks against Len’s ass, his hand low and his fingers sliding inside of Len, crooking a little, his other hand easily hoisting Len’s leg up so that Mick can play with Len’s ass with ease, both of them on their sides.

“Wondering how long it’d take you to notice,” Mick says, voice thick with amusement.

Len just grunts. “We fucked _all last night_ ,” he points out, because it’s true. After that first time, getting knotted for the first time, when they’d finally pulled apart – don’t ask Len how long that took, he was high on endorphins and his internal clock decided to fuck off for once in his life – Mick had taken his time, running his mouth all over Len’s body, learning every inch of him with tongue and fingers until Len could be coaxed back into hardness, till Mick could take him into his mouth and get him coming again.

Even now, Len’s not sure he can get it up; Mick’s hand is in him and it feels great, but he’s only half-hard. He’s _relaxed_ , more than anything else, his body soft and open. It's nice.

“Tonight’s the moon,” Mick says, as if that explains everything.

And, hell, it probably did.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Len predicts.

Mick laughs.

“Death by orgasm,” Len says, mock-gloomily. “Not exactly what I expected my obituary would say, but hey, what a way to go –”

“You don’t even need to _do_ anything,” Mick tells him, amused. “Just lie there.”

“I’m gonna be sore,” Len whines, but he doesn’t really mean it.

Also, fuck Mick. Leonard Snart does not just _lie there_.

Though he's still a bit sleepy, and Mick _is_ doing all the work…

The _heavy lifting_ , so to speak.

Len sniggers.

“I don’t want to know what stupid pun you’ve just thought of,” Mick says, long-suffering.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Len says, and rocks back against Mick.

“I just like feeling you,” Mick murmurs. “You’re still wet and everything – still dripping – god, you’re perfect –”

Okay, so maybe Len _can_ handle one more round. He's such a giver. 

Now that Len’s awake, Mick pulls his fingers out and wraps them around Len’s hips, sliding his cock between Len’s legs, not inside, just rutting against him and groaning as Len squeezes his legs together. Mick doesn’t take all that long to finish, which makes Len wonder a bit at how long Mick had been at him before he’d woken all the way up – what a lovely thought, Mick playing with him as Len sleeps trustingly beside him – he really will have to return the favor one of these days. Mick all at his mercy, fast asleep - yes, _please_.

The feeling of Mick twitching between his legs as he comes is pretty nice, too.

Mick takes a few minutes to enjoy the afterglow, then he rolls out of bed, tucking Len back into the bed and looking down at him with an expression on his face that Len can best describe as ‘satisfied’. 

“You’d better be going to get me breakfast,” Len says in his best, mildest ‘disagree-and-I-will-kill-you’ tone. 

“Breakfast and a backrub,” Mick confirms. “Possibly followed by a bath.”

“Acceptable,” Len says. “Extra points for alliteration.”

Mick rolls his eyes at him and turns to off to the kitchen, while Len snuggles back into the pillows. 

A quick glance out the window shows that it’s already past midday. A bit late for breakfast, but then again, they did stay up late last night.

Mick brings plates with bagels, one piled high with an omelet and the other smeared with cream cheese, and Len ravenously falls upon his own.

He needs the energy, especially since he can see that Mick’s already hard _again_ which – _seriously_?

Mick shrugs, unashamed, when Len points it out. 

“Death by sex,” Len tells him. “It’s a real thing. Look it up.”

Mick’s smile – well, the only word for it is ‘wolfish.’

Len can’t help but reach out to grab Mick by the suspenders he wore to reel him in for a kiss. And then –

Oh, what the hell.

One blowjob later, even Mick looks sated, his eyes heavily lidded. Len smirks and makes to get up, only for a hand to snake around his waist and pull him back down.

“I think a midday nap is called for.”

“We literally _just_ –”

“Shut up. Nap.”

Len snickers, but permits himself to be drawn back down for a nap.

Mick falls asleep quickly – the moon revving him up and drawing him down both, no doubt – but Len only dozes, plans for possible heists drifting through his mind and mixing with equally vivid plans for possible future assignations until he wakes abruptly in the middle of considering what the best way to pick a lock on a Gardall TL 15 commercial safe while avoiding anyone seeing that he’s being fucked by an amorous and slightly feral Mick.

He blinks.

Scratch that one off the plans list. 

Or possibly put it _on_ the list. Whatever. 

Why’d he wake up?

The soft sound echoes again. 

It sounds like – a knock on the door?

Who the _hell_ is knocking on _this_ door? They specifically picked the house on Sullivan Street because the whole damn area got abandoned this time of year. 

Len wiggles out of Mick’s grasp and heads to the door, grabbing a pair of pants off the floor and throwing on one of Mick’s shirts – it hangs too large on him, but whatever – and one of his jackets.

He also grabs his cold gun from where they’d stashed the guns for easy access, plus an extra gun of the more regular variety, which he shoves into his pocket after checking the safety.

Holding the cold gun behind his back and standing off to the side in case someone was going to fire through the door, he cracks the door open.

There’s a gangly man there. He’s got blond, short hair, a vaguely facile-looking face, and he’s wearing a terrible pair of beige pants and a horrifically pastel blue polo shirt. Moderately expensive clothing, but not excessively so; he’s not Family, and judging by the expression on his face, he’s not a killer of any variety, either. Not unless he’s the best faker Len’s ever seen. 

Possible, but unlikely.

If anything, he looks – excited, Len would say. His face is flushed and his eyes are slightly dilated, like drugs or arousal.

“Can I help you?” Len asks, not opening the door any further.

“Oh! Yes,” the man says, pulling at his collar a little bet. “I – I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me – my name is Dan – might I come inside?”

_Hah_. Like there’s any chance of _that_ happening.

“No,” Len says, rolling his eyes and putting the cold gun down. This is not a cold gun sort of situation. This is an annoying neighbor sort of situation. “Go away.”

“It’ll only take a minute – just a minute of your time –”

Right, then.

Guess they’ll have to do this the hard way.

Len flings open the door and grabs the man by the collar, stepping out and swinging him against the wall of the house before putting the regular gun he's holding right to the guy's temple. “Let me be perfectly clear,” Len says pleasantly. Normally he’d pull the guy inside for a bit of privacy, but for some reason he’s not inclined to do that, so this’ll have to be quick. This isn’t really that gun-friendly a neighborhood. “You are going to leave. You are going to leave _now_ , and you’re going to go very far away, and you’re not going to come back. This is _my_ home, at least for the moment, and I will not hesitate to defend it. _Do you understand me_?”

The man’s eyes have gone wide and he’s panting a little, though less in fear and more like he’s trying to – is he trying to _sniff_ Len? 

“Am I being clear?” Len tries again.

“You know,” the man says, and his eyes are kinda dazed like he’s turned on or something, “you’re really quite exceptional –”

“Right,” Len says. Guy’s clearly some sort of insane pervert. “I’m going to kill you and stuff you in the backyard with the begonias.”

“I’ll go!” the man squeaks, clearly snapping out of his daze when he realizes that Len means it. 

Len considers the pros and cons of just killing the guy.

“Fine,” he says grudgingly. “But only because gunshots are loud and I’m taking care of Mick today, so I don’t want to disturb him. But if I hear _any_ indication that you’ve called the cops on us –”

“No! Definitely not!”

“And you’re going to go away now?”

“Y-yes?”

“Make that more definite.” Len grinds the muzzle of the gun into the side of the man’s head.

“Yes! Definitely yes!”

“Good. Now get moving.”

“Yes,” the man says. “You go – take care of your wolf. While being scary.”

Len rolls his eyes and watches the man scramble away, climbing into a car haphazardly parked in front of the house and burning rubber on his way out.

It’s not until he goes back inside when he realizes –

Len never said that Mick was a wolf. 

Then how did the guy know?

Len scowls. He’ll have to look up the guy when the moon is over – what did he say his name was? Dan something?

Wait. _Hotline_ Dan?

Surely not…

“Lenny?” Mick says, poking his head out from the upstairs. He sounds sleepy, but slightly anxious.

“On my way back up,” Len says, putting the guns back in their place and double-checking the safety on each one. 

He puts the question of the strange man aside as well. Mick needs him.

When he gets back upstairs, Mick is a few inches taller than he ought to be, and significantly hairier, which isn’t unusual on full moon days. He’s still looking calm, which is a definite improvement over previous months. 

Maybe Len should suggest watching one of those Discovery Planet documentaries that Mick’s developed a fondness for.

Mick loops an arm around Len and nuzzles his neck. “I’ve run a bath for us,” he rumbles.

Or they could do that. That is _also_ an option.

Mick always swore by the bathtub in this house, though Len’s never tried it out before. Len’s more of a shower sort of guy. He’s not really comfortable with the idea of bathing – he’s never entirely understood what it is you’re supposed to _do_ , sitting in a pool of water for however long once you’re done with the soap and the shampoo and shit, though Mick’s always been as happy as freaking otter, spending literally hours in there.

It wasn’t until a few months ago that Len’d started taking baths again. Len had been complaining of soreness and stiffness after getting caught in a particularly nasty bout of bad weather, that Mick had more or less picked him up and thrown Len fully clothed into a steaming hot bath, then perched on a stool and glared every time Len had tried to get up until Len had given in and started detailing his plans for their next heist from the bath.

He’d had to admit, he did feel better when he got up. So he allowed Mick to run him baths every once in a while, as long as Mick agreed to sit by the door and talk to him. It was pleasant enough.

But the idea of bathing _with_ Mick, when Mick has that manic expression in his eyes where he’s looking at Len like he’s as precious as the flame that comes from his favorite lighter…

Yeah. That sounds good.

Honestly, Len sometimes can’t believe this is his life.

On the other hand, _hell yes_ this is his life.

“Lead on, Macduff,” he drawls, and follows Mick up the stairs.

“Pretty sure that ain’t how it goes.”

“Pretty sure it is.”

“It’s ‘lay on’.”

“…shit, it is, ain’t it.” Len eyes Mick as he follows him into the bathroom where, in fact, there is a bath so steaming hot that Len’s going to have to wait a minute or two before getting in. “You know you’re too tall again, right?”

“I’m stretching my bones a bit.”

“That _can’t_ be how it works.”

Mick shrugs. “Damned if I know,” he says, which makes Len feel better about his relative state of ignorance. Stupid hotline. “Just, moon stuff. More feral, more territorial –”

“Hornier,” Len says dryly, because Mick’s started nuzzling him again. He’s got the feeling Mick’s concern with this particular bath was less cleanliness or even Len’s abused joints than an excuse to get Len naked again, which Len minds not at all. “You know, if you’re feeling all territorial, I’m surprised you let me go answer the door.”

Mick grins. “I was jerking off.”

“Seriously? Again? _Already_?”

“You went to answer the door wearing my shirt, smelling of me, with my come drying between your thighs,” Mick rumbles. “It was _real_ inspirational.”

Len shakes his head in amusement. Territoriality _and_ exhibitionism; he should've guessed. “Speaking of which,” he says, stepping out of his pants, so that all he’s wearing is Mick’s shirt, which Mick seems to appreciate if the gleam in his eyes is anything to go by, “let’s get clean, shall we?”

Then he yelps, because Mick just _picks him up_ without any more of a warning. Len automatically wraps his legs around Mick’s body and his arms around Mick’s shoulders, and Mick laughs and kisses him. 

Len kisses back.

“I’ll show you clean,” Mick says, which doesn’t even makes _sense_ – wait.

“Don’t you _dare_ drop me in that boiling vat until I give the word!”

“It’s not that hot.”

“Says the _arsonist pyromaniac werewolf_.”

Mick sniggers. “You need it to be warm enough or it won’t help your joints,” he says reasonably.

“Fine,” Len grumbles. “But I could’ve just gotten in myself. Is there any reason to pick me up while you do it?”

“Because it gets you all hot and bothered?”

Damn Len’s (relative) nakedness.

“…I see you’ve noticed that.”

“I’m a _werewolf_ , boss,” Mick says, lowering Len gently into to the steaming water, which is in fact not as hot as it seems from the outside. “I notice every time. I can _smell_ it.”

“So back before, I should’ve taken my jerking off outside the house, that what I’m hearing?” Len asks, peeling off his now-wet shirt and tossing it aside before relaxing back on the bath with a sigh. This bathtub’s _huge_. You could throw a birthday party in this bathtub and have space to invite some buddies you don’t know all that well.

Mick strips off and climbs in, grunting approvingly as he sinks into the hot tub. They end up pressed side-by-side in the tub, which is in fact not as large as Len thought when it was just him, but whatever; not like Len objects.

“Nah,” he says. “Smelled nice.”

Len arches an eyebrow at Mick.

“Not in a creepy stalking way! Just, y’know. Smelled liked home.” Mick shrugs and loops an arm around Len. “I remember the first time, just after I shifted all the way for the first time – I was in that vault, with the bars and shit, and I woke up angry as anything –”

“I remember,” Len says. He remembers it all too clearly – the stifling pressure of the night, the taste of vomit fouling his mouth ever since that first, horrific transformation, bones breaking and shifting and all that, but he’d refused to leave Mick’s side even as Mick howled and threw himself at the bars. Thank god they’d held. 

“Took me a while to calm back down, that first time,” Mick says, lolling his head back and letting his eyes drift shut. “I was all confused – all the new senses, the moon, the hunger, wanting to _chase_ – but you were there the whole time. I remembered you.”

Len nods. He hadn’t been entirely sure, that first month, bringing Mick meat, setting up a television for him, keeping watch to make sure no one attacked, but after that first transformation, things had been better. Oh, Mick’s temper had been even more fiery than normal, but it could be managed – food, shows, beer, the usual. Sometimes he needed the cage, but usually he could restrain himself. 

“You fell asleep,” Mick remembers. “I’d kept you running around half the night, and for most of the days leading up to it, what with my temper and all, but at one point you just – tipped over. Fast asleep.”

“Yeah?” Len says, slightly annoyed at himself.

“I hated those bars so much,” Mick says. “More then than any other time. I wanted to be by your side, even then. You smelled _right_. Everything about you smelled like home. Like a good fire, making everything in my head just go quiet and happy. Should’ve known all the way back then that you were it for me.”

Len snorts. “Of course you should have," he says. "The fact that you even _considered_ going elsewhere for your pack, Mick...I mean, honestly. What were you even thinking?”

Mick laughs and turns to him, his hands starting to wander, and he’s hard again.

“What the _fuck_ , werewolf anatomy?” Len wonders aloud. “You lot try to get in all your screwing once a month, that how werewolves work?”

“It’s springtime,” Mick laughs, low and dark and purposeful. “Mating season.”

Len lets himself get pulled into position, Mick rearranging his limbs just the way he likes, face to face and rubbing up hot against each other. “Mating season, huh?” he asks, amused. “So I ain’t looking at not walking every month?”

“As lovely an image as that is, I need you strong and healthy so you can run my pack,” Mick says, grinding up against Len as Len languidly rubs back against him. “So no. But now – well. You know why there used to be mating seasons, for werewolves?”

“No, why?”

Mick leans forward and mouths at the marks he’d left on Len’s neck. “Used to be, werewolves would be real protective of their mates, since their mates were the only way they could start a new pack. Break away. But a mate’s important, y’see. A wolf’s only half the pack. So there’d be competition, you know. For the good ones. The _strong_ ones. The ones that could make your pack something to be _respected_.”

Len nods, moving a little faster. Mick’s gotten off at least three times today, and Len’s got some catching up to do. 

Mick’s hand slipping down to play with Len’s ass again helps, too. God, Len won’t need much prepping, between the water and the rest, but he gropes around to find that Mick’s already considerately set up some lube right on the edge of the tub.

Len _knew_ this was a pre-planned seduction. Mick putting into action those planning skills that he always pretends he doesn’t have.

Len approves.

“You’d want to show off your mate, prove to everyone that you’ve got yourself the best one out there,” Mick says, and his voice is so deep it shakes Len’s bones. “But you’d want to keep them to yourself, too, so they’d be safe. That’s where it started. You get the moon to take ‘em, show them you can treat them right, lay out your claim. Feed ‘em. Care for ‘em.” 

“Fuck them?” Len suggests. It’s not a subtle hint. The story’s interesting enough, and pretty sexy if only because Mick’s talking about it like it’s the best thing since accelerant, but, well. Len’s here for a reason, and it _isn’t_ to get clean.

Mick’s smile has a few too many teeth. He’s strong enough to pick Len up and slide him into position, taking Len’s weight as much as the water is, and lets Len slowly slide down onto his cock.

Oh yeah. _That’s_ what Len’s talking about.

“The rest of the month,” Mick continues “You show ‘em off, fight other wolves for them. Show how good you are. Show that you’re _worthy_ of them.”

“Yeah,” Len gasps, as Mick bottoms out. He’s so goddamn big like this. Len’s glad this isn’t a monthly event, because god, everyone’s going to know he’s been had the way he’s going to be walking. 

“Moon’s different, though,” Mick says. “See, that’s when the competition really heats up. Everyone wants the best mate, and everyone’s blood gets pumping, especially during the mating seasons. You get into a fight during the moon, someone’s gonna die – and then they’ll take your mate, too, and that just drove you nuts even thinking about it. Thought of someone else touching them. Thought of someone else _having_ them.”

“No one else is gonna have me,” Len says, starting to move even as Mick rolls his hips in just the right way.

“Used to be during the moon, a wolf would take his mate somewhere private,” Mick says, and something in his voice makes Len go quiet and listen again. “Somewhere safe, somewhere that could be defended, and then they’d take them, take them again and again and again, till they were _dripping_ with come, till it took, till they were filled up, swollen and heavy with a child – marked up for good –” One of Mick’s hands steal up to press against the flat planes of Len’s stomach. “– see, other wolves would try to come and get in the way, all of them jealous and desperate, and the wolf would fight them for the pleasure of their mate, fighting and fucking – not letting anyone take them – making their claim – till there wasn’t anyone else –”

“You like that, huh?” Len says, leaning forward for a kiss. “You wanna claim me, Mick? Wanna knot me, tie me to you so you’re sure no one else can get me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Mick growls.

“Good,” Len says. “‘cause I’m game if you are.”

“I wanted to knot you the first time I saw you, lying asleep right outside my cell,” Mick growls, and his hands are hard and hot on Len’s hips, his back. “Fast asleep, with a monster three feet away from you, ‘cause you trusted me, even then. Wanted to break out right then and fuck you into that goddamn concrete. Never thought you’d let me.”

“I’m letting you now,” Len says. “I told you. I’m your partner. It’s _my_ job to take care of you. You want me, you have me. You want a girl –”

“I don’t want a girl,” Mick growls. “I want _you_. I’ve _always_ wanted you.”

Len licks his lips. He’s not sure when they went dry. He’s wanted Mick for so long it was just a fact of life; he’d just put it out of his head, the thought that Mick might ever want him back, because Len never got what he really wanted. And yet - there it is. “Yeah?” he says. “You want me, then? Fill me up? Gonna make me love it?”

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Mick growls and he’s moving just the way Len needs him too, fucking up in earnest now. “Gonna breed you up, gonna make it take; I don’t _care_ if it’s the first moon. Gonna have you again and again and again, and you’re gonna love every damn minute of it. We go out tomorrow, every single supernatural in the whole damn city’s gonna know who you belong to.”

“ _Yeah_ –”

“You’re gonna smell like me, _just_ me, inside and out. There won’t be one part of you I won’t touch, not one bit. You’re going to be limping to your little meeting with the Flash, and he’s going to know, too. He’s going to go all red, cheeks turning to match the color of that stupid suit, ‘cause he knows you let me have you –”

“Fuck, _yes_ –”

“He’s gonna slink off home, fast as he can, blink of an eye,” Mick growls in Len’s ear. “Rip open that suit of his, jerk himself off, lightning-quick, just thinking about you and me – thinking about what we got up to – knowing that you’re _mine_ , mine alone, and _he can’t have you_ – none of them can – because you’re all for me –”

Len keens a little. 

“Best thing I ever stole,” Mick says, and his eyes are gold, and Len knows he’s close. Knows that soon enough – fuck, it’s even better with the anticipation. This time Len knows it’s going to happen, knows Mick’s going to grow large inside of him, swell up until they’re tied together, pinning Len in place to make sure he can’t go anywhere. Hot and hard inside of him, spurting inside of him, bursts of wet heat that will come trickling down his thighs later, painting them till Len looks exactly as ravaged, as taken, as _fucked_ as Mick could possibly want. “Best thing I took away from the world was you, Lenny. They’ll all want you, because you’re perfect, you’re strong, your will is _so strong_ , Len, you’re the baddest sonofabitch out there, and no one will ever cross you – and you’re _mine_ , you chose _me_ , when you could’ve had anyone –”

“Don’t want anyone else,” Len says, and fuck, it’s been true for years, years that he’s been jerking off to thoughts of Mick and then finding someone else to have fun with, but always coming back to Mick’s side. Mick’s his partner; has been ever since they were kids, and no one – _no one_ – has ever challenged that. Not his boys, not his girls; his favorite prostitutes and the marks he picked up at bars. Len’s never wanted anyone like he wanted Mick. “Fuck, you’re gonna do it, gonna stretch me open out on that knot of yours; ruin me for anyone else – I know you are – I _want_ it –”

“You’re so goddamn needy,” Mick says, and Len feels it starting, feels Mick swelling up. Fuck, he _feels_ it. The edge of anticipation is speeding up into a full adrenaline rush, and it’s heady. Like the best heist in the world. “Begging me for it already – you’re gonna be a handful, and there’s only me to put you in your place –”

“Yeah, my place,” Len pants. “Yeah, you do that - put me in my place, my proper place, right where I belong –" He pauses for a heartbeat. "- _running your pack_.”

Len's still the boss, after all.

One of Mick’s hands clenches on Len’s hip, the other one shoots out to curl on the edge of the tub, and he _howls_ , a full-fledged fucking wolf howl – Len’s a little deaf now, he thinks – and he’s coming, the knot swelling up all the way, _yes_ , and fuck, that’s good. That’s so good.

“You’re gonna come on my knot,” Mick says, and his eyes are glazed over, his hips working mindlessly as he comes again and again. “Yeah, you are – gonna love it – knotted you like the bitch you are, needy little slut, but just for me, all for me –”

“Fuck,” Len says, and scrambles to wrap his hand around himself. He needs to come _now_.

“Look at you,” Mick says and he pulls his hand free of the (now somewhat dented) tub and presses it against Len’s belly. “Look at you. I can see it now, how you’ll look – you’ll be all mine, swollen and glowing and perfect, and I’ll go mad with wanting you –”

It’s too good. The pressure of Mick’s knot against Len is just perfect, and his cock is twitching inside of him, and it’s better than any sex toy Len’s ever had, it’s so hot and hard and Len loves it, loves the rush of endorphins that are spiraling through his system, the rush that comes from Mick’s knot, the one that keeps the pleasure going on and on and on. It’s _too good_. 

Len cries out something when he comes. He’s not sure what. Maybe Mick’s name.

Mick curls up around him, murmuring soft things in his ear, nonsensical things – things about how good he’ll look, big and heavy and _safe_ , how Mick will feed him and care for him, how Mick will kill his rivals and throw their bodies at Len’s feet – his hands caressing Len and helping him come down from his high, kneading Len’s muscles and working the last bits of tension out of them, Mick’s body rocking against him, Mick’s breath hot on his face.

By the time Len’s fallen back into his body, he’s so relaxed he’s seriously considering going to sleep again.

Possibly here in this tub.

“Moving would be awkward,” he says, laying his head on Mick’s shoulder.

“I’ll get you to bed,” Mick promises. “You just crash.”

Len murmurs agreement. He doesn’t sleep immediately, not quite, just dozes, letting the water and Mick’s strong hands and deep voice lull him into a languid dream.

He’s vaguely aware of Mick pulling him off, cleaning him up – a warm towel drying him off, head, body, between his legs – and he even manages to walk most of the way to his bed on his own two feet.

He doesn’t bother covering himself with the blankets when he crawls into the bed, just falling straight into a heavy, satisfied sleep.

Len wakes up a few hours later feeling hot and a little smothered.

He blinks up at the ceiling. It’s dark in the room, dark outside – he can see the faint light from the window; the shades having been pulled open to let what light from the moon stream in that it can.

The _full_ moon.

Len looks down at his – blanket.

Mick’s in full shift, monstrously large, larger than his human body could ever reach, his bones broken and reformed, layer upon layer of muscle writ on an inhuman scale; the familiar rough skin, toughed with burn scars, replaced by a thick layer of fur. Mick’s a rather handsome beast, if Len has any view on the subject: the fur on his shoulders and arms and back is a speckled, reddish hue, echoing the burns that cover his human body, and the rest is a dark brown, healthy and hale. Nothing like the grey wolf that had attacked them, its mangy slate-colored fur shedding off, yellowed teeth pulled back, drool oozing out of the corners of his jaws, foaming at the mouth with rage and bloodlust. 

Mick is also a goddamn _furnace_ right now.

Len tries to dislodge him.

Fucking heavy, too. 

Mick just murmurs something in his sleep and curls up closer. He’s – it’s actually kinda cute, now that Len takes a minute to look at him, asleep in the moonlight like it isn’t the full moon. He must have tired himself out earlier. 

Probably intentionally. Mick’s considerate like that. People all too often assume that because he’s tough, because he’s violent, because he’s not the best with words, that Mick doesn’t think at all, but it’s not true. Mick’s an enforcer, yes, but he's the best type; the type you give a mission to and they compete it in the best possible way, no matter how vaguely worded the objective is, because they know what you want to achieve and they want to achieve it, too, in your name and for your benefit.

On the full moon, the transformation is inevitable, unlike all the other days. Mick probably hoped that he could wear them both out so that Len would sleep straight through it and have a whole month to acclimate himself to the idea that his decision to offer to help his partner out through a tough spot has resulted in a full-blown sexual relationship with a werewolf.

If that’s the case, which Len suspects it is, then Mick’s being silly. Len’s got no problem with the idea.

This pile of fur and fire is _all_ Len’s.

But he’s still going to have to goddamn _move_ before Len dies of _heatstroke_.

(Len compromises by wiggling around until Mick’s wrapped around his back and throwing a book through the window so it’ll be open for a breeze. He’ll fix the damage tomorrow.)


	4. Post-Moon

Len slouches back against the wall of the bar, hand wrapped around a pint of beer. He's feeling pretty good, all things considered. Sure, the place is loud, rowdy, and smells bad, but the beer is surprisingly decent and the air isn't too smoky. He's found himself a nice corner where he can have his back safely to the wall and he’s all wrapped up in his parka and two layers beneath it, just as he likes it.

Both layers are actually Mick's, actually. Len would've had to be blind to miss how Mick kept sniffing at Len and smiling, especially when Len's in bed or sitting by Mick, not to mention his appreciative comments the day before about Len answering the door for him, so Len had made the obvious calculation and grabbed a button-down Mick had worn a few days ago and dug up an old sweater of Mick’s to go on top of it.

It’d been _very_ successful.

He smirks, remembering how Mick's jaw dropped in a very satisfactory manner when Len strolled out wearing that get up and announced that they were going out to get a drink.

"You've got no fear, do you?" Mick said, shaking his head, getting up and heading towards Len. “Crazy bastard – it’s only the day after the moon –”

"You know you want to go," Len purred in response. "Wanna show me off, don't you?"

Mick groaned and dropped to his knees, crawling forward. "You drive me nuts, Snart," he growled. 

Len gulped, watching Mick crawl to him. "Now, Mick," he half-heartedly protested. "We're meant to be heading out."

"Oh, we'll go out," Mick said, running his hands up Len's legs. "We'll go out all right. But I ain't gonna show you off; I don't need to. You're gonna show yourself off, aren't you? Control freak."

Len shrugs. He's a bit of a control freak, it's true.

Mick laughed. "I bet you will," he says fondly. "You're my prize, best in the box." He ducked his head, nuzzling Len's inseam, working his way up Len's inner thigh. "My partner," he rumbled. "Len..."

"I guess we can take a _little_ extra time before going," Len conceded.

"Stick 'em up," Mick said. "And keep 'em there."

Len laced his fingers together behind his head.

"Good."

Mick's fingers made quick work of Len's jeans, popping open the button and unzipping, pulling Len out. He rubbed his cheek against Len’s cock, smirking as Len groaned, and then, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Len’s, Mick leaned down, forgoing any delicacy to wrap his lips around Len’s cock.

“Fuck,” Len croaked.

Mick hummed happily and just _went_ for it. No neatness, no tricks, no subtlety, just Mick doing his goddamn best to drive Len _insane_.

Len’s knuckles went white keeping his hands behind his head. Turns out years of being able to hold that pose while being searched by angrily policemen who kept smacking at him with batons to try to lure him out of position so they’d have an excuse to beat an allegedly hostile suspect down is absolutely useless when it comes to resisting an amorous werewolf with a wicked sense of humor.

The worst part, of course, is that every time Len’s fingers so much as slipped even slightly out of position, Mick _stopped_ until Len got them back into place.

The challenge somehow made it all the better.

Goddamn Mick. And he says _Len's_ a control freak.

Of course, once Len was done, _Mick_ had gotten all revved up, and well, Len firmly believes in the equality and reciprocity aspects of a good partnership.

Suffice it to say that it'd taken them a good extra hour to get out of the house. 

Clearly the answer to Len’s introversion and dislike of loud, rowdy gatherings is to get him into an appropriately mellow post-orgasm-and-brief-nap languor. Len smiles at the memory and shifts a little in his chair. Time to change the direction of his thoughts or else he’d start having trouble sitting still.

Though the idea of pulling Mick into the bathroom for a quickie _is_ intensely appealing...

A trail of iridescent bubbles float into Len’s face, forcing him to wave them off and glare at the offending nereid, who blushes and looks away.

On second thought, maybe this isn’t the right bar to be having quickies in. It's a super bar, which meant that the whole variety of supernatural creatures in Central was on display: wolves and vamps and dryads and selkies, everyone and everything. 

No lightning spirits, but Len’s not surprised; the Flash had left a garbled voicemail on Len’s phone saying something about gorillas which Len isn’t touching with a ten-foot pole. Why the Flash is dealing with a zoo problem, Len doesn’t know and doesn’t _want_ to know.

He suspects it’s because the Flash has been particularly protective - read: absurdly over-invested in everything - of Central City ever since his battle royale with that other lightning spirit had spurred on a large black whirling cyclone over the city, destroying large swathes of it. Some people had called it a black hole, which was just frankly ridiculous.

Magic is magic, but you get that close to a black hole, nothing’s going to help you, in Len’s view.

“What’re you thinking?” Mick asks, draining his own beer.

“…nothing much,” Len replies, his mind having wandered off into thinking about how some supernaturals didn’t seem to need to breath the way humans did and wondering about whether supernaturals could travel in space and maybe-not-maybe imagining him and Mick in dashing sci-fi uniforms pirating the galaxy.

“I don’t want to know?”

“No.”

Not until Len has a chance to visit a costume store, anyway. 

“Want another drink?”

Len looks down at his still half-filled beer. “You want to start a fight,” he predicts.

Mick beams.

Len shakes his head and slides his beer over to Mick. “Finish that, then get me another,” he orders. “Oh, and tell the bartender I want some fries.”

“Fries it is,” Mick says, finishing Len’s beer in a few swallows. “Oh, and some of those cheese things.”

“Can’t go wrong with cheese,” Len agrees, then watches appreciatively as Mick heads over to the bar. He can’t help but feel a slight frisson of excitement; he’s always enjoyed watching Mick fight when there’s nothing else at stake – a nice bar fight’s always been his favorite part of going out to bars at all – and Mick’s clearly feeling it tonight, smug and satisfied after the moon going so damn well. It’s going to be _beautiful_.

Sure enough, Mick makes it to the bar, puts in his order, and starts getting into some shit with one of the tough guys hanging out there, some guy in a leather jacket that doesn’t make him look nearly as tough as he thinks it does.

Of course, with Mick, it’s even odds if that’s going to end up in a fight or in Mick finding a new friend, because Mick _does that_. He’s ridiculously good with people, even if he doesn’t think that he is; it’s all a matter of putting him in the right context.

"Heeeeeeeey," someone says not too far away from Len.

Len tries not to roll his eyes. C'mon, man, at least give her a pick-up line to go with that. 

"Hey? I mean, excuse me?"

It takes that long for Len to realize that the person being so badly approached is _him_.

He turns his head slowly, disbelievingly. 

"You're a college student," Len says flatly.

"...I'm into older guys?" the kid tries. He's brunette, short, kinda twink-y. He's got a hearing aid, and his clothing practically screams rich boy. "And I actually graduated early, so..."

"No. Just - no."

"If you'd give me a chance, I could show you -"

Len holds up a hand and, when that doesn't work, pins the kid with a look that cuts him off mid-sentence. "Kid," he says, because he remembers being young and dumb. "Just stop the embarrassment now and move on. For both our sakes."

"But -"

Len's eyes narrow. "Kid, do you know the phrase 'no means no'?"

"...yes?"

"I'm saying no. Now leave before I make my ‘no’ even more clear - and in case that was too subtle, I mean 'before I break your bones'."

The kid slinks away, though not without some sincerely longing looks back at Len.

Len shakes his head in amusement. Guess there's always one. Len knows he's pretty hot, he uses it often enough in trapping marks, but he's not sure how Mick hanging all over him earlier hadn't been clear enough. Hope springs eternal, he supposes.

That first kid was funny.

The next four people who sidle over to hit on him are not.

"You're popular," the stormster who's been sitting a few seats down the bar comments.

"You noticed," Len says dryly.

"That last woman was pretty smoking. Just saying."

"I'm _taken_ ," Len says, trying to see where Mick had gotten to - ah, the pool tables, showing some rube what's what. Good man. Fight must've gotten derailed.

"You're Cold, aren't you?" the stormster asks.

Len actually looks at him for that one. "That's me," he says, eyes narrowing until a name pops into his head. "Mardon, is it?"

"Yeah."

"Did you actually try to tsunami the city?"

"Not my finest moment," Mardon concedes, coughing a little in embarrassment. "Anniversary of my little brother's death."

"Tough. My sympathies."

"Thanks."

"Try it again and I'll ice your balls off."

"I have no doubt," Mardon says, wincing. "And you’re not the only one to make his feelings on the subject known. Say, you planning anything coming up? I'm not _short_ or anything, nothing desperate, but, well, ever since the Flash came around, it’s been harder to find good jobs..."

"I might," Len allows. "Why you asking me?"

"You're one of the few people with a good record of pulling shit off against the Scarlet Sparkplug. Figure I'll get in with someone who knows what they're going."

Len hums thoughtfully, thinking about it. On one hand, a supernatural crew would be pretty cool, and Mick never said that their pack had to be wolf-only. On the other hand – _tsunami_.

“If it changes anything, I’ve hooked up with a wolf myself recently,” Mardon offers. “He’s got some banshee blood, good with electronics, sonic stuff.” He winces a little. "Pretty sure he tried to hit on you earlier, but he's normally better than that."

"Gimme your contact info," Len says. "I'll consider it."

Weather manipulation - you could do a lot with that. Sure, Mardon was clearly more emotional, but if Len could manage Mick, he could easily manage Mardon. Bringing along a tech guy would be good, too, especially if Mick was looking for more wolves. That would also add a new element to Len’s battles against the Flash, which could be interesting…

“Hey, pretty. This seat taken?”

“Yes,” Len says without looking. “Buzz off.”

A heavy hand falls down on Len’s shoulder and spins him around with inhuman force. The guy in front of him is a _giant_ – not literally, since Len supposes it's possible those also exist, but he's a head taller than Len, and Len's not a short man. Even without that, the man has supernatural strength, and Len of course does not. This is a rather unfair match.

Len's favorite type.

"That wasn't very nice, pretty boy," the wolf - and it is a wolf, like Mick, practically half shifted given how goddamn hairy he is, or maybe he just looks like that normally - says, growling out his words. 

Len is unimpressed. 

The wolf mistakes Len's disdain for fear, or something of the sort, as he then grins, over-long tongue lapping out to lick his lips. "So," he rasps, running the thumb of the hand still clapped onto Len's shoulder along Len's neck, "how you plan to make it up to me?"

Len is _deeply_ unimpressed.

Still, Mick likes this bar. Len will try the diplomatic approach.

"You came up to me," he says flatly. "You asked a question, you got an answer. Now if you know what's good for you, you'll do what I told you the first time and buzz off."

Len never said his diplomatic approach was particularly diplomatic.

The wolf laughs nastily. "I don't think so," he says, still going for the raspy voice. "I think -"

"I don't have any Tylenol on me," Len interjects. "But there's a drugstore down the way."

The wolf blinks, off his stride. "What?"

"For that cold of yours," Len says helpfully. "You keep doing this thing with your voice." He coughs as demonstration.

Mardon sniggers into his drink. He's not the only one.

The wolf's eyes narrow and he tries to rally. "You won't be laughing long," he says, low and threatening. "Not after I drag you down and fuck you right here on the floor, fill you up like a bitch like you needs -"

"As if I'd sleep with anybody so crass as to be half-shifted in a super bar before the fighting's even started," Len says, because his patience for being hit on has gone down to basically nothing, and his patience for threats was never all too great to start with. "And even if I was so stupid, I feel like the bartender might object."

"No one'll object once you're moaning beneath me," the wolf says confidently.

"I won't be," Len says. "Last chance to buzz off before I put you in your place."

The wolf laughs nastily. "You're expecting your dumb brute wolf of a partner to come rescue you? Well, I don't think -"

"You _don't_ think," Len says, his voice cold, because being rude to Len in an attempt to start a fight is entirely understandable, but insulting Mick is just uncalled for. "And you clearly don't listen either, since I said _I_ would put you in your place."

"You?" the wolf scoffs. "What could _you_ do to _me_?"

"Well," Len drawls, "you're a big strong werewolf, stronger and faster than I'll ever be, and little old me's got nothing -"

The wolf smirks and tries to speak.

"- except a gun aimed at your hip and loaded with amped up silver rounds, of course."

The wolf straights up immediately, his eyes dropping down to Len’s lap where, indeed, Len has pulled out his regular-style gun - more subtle than the cold gun, luckily - and is aiming it at the wolf with all appearances of casualness.

Len’s an adrenaline junkie, not _stupid_. Why in the world would he go to a supernatural bar, filled to the brim with creatures that prey on mankind, in order to start a bar fight and not bring a weapon specifically tailored for the supernatural?

"I'd shoot you before you got a step closer," Len says meditatively. "Since wolves aren't anywhere near faster than guns, I’d hit you, too. And while you'd stagger back, trying to rip it out of your flesh - you'd succeed, of course, this bar's got a no-killing-whatever-reason banning rule - I'd pull out my cold gun, which can freeze lightning in its tracks, and I'd see you well you fare for a month or two re-growing that foot of yours from frostbite."

The wolf is gaping at him. Len lets his eyes flicker across the room, taking its measure - they have an audience, but they mostly seem neutral or in Len's favor, good, and then adds, "But I'm not going to do that."

"You're...not?" the wolf says, clearly puzzled. Possibly a little hopeful that it meant that Len was softening to his beyond-terrible approach, because he clearly doesn't have any intelligence whatsoever.

"No," Len says, and leans back onto the bar. "See, my 'wolf of a partner', as you call him, has been wanting to get into a fight since we arrived, and -" here Len smirks "-he's coming up right behind you."

The wolf spins around just in time for a few hundred pounds of enraged Mick Rory to hit him dead on.

There's roars and shouting all around as they roll away from Len and into the middle of the crowd, spectators rushing in to watch and cheer. 

Len leans back triumphantly and gestures to the bartender with the hand that isn't holding the gun - he doesn't lie about guns unless he has to. "Another beer," he says to the amused looking djinn-of-many-bodies' closest incarnation. "And I believe my partner put in an order for fries and those cheese things?"

"Coming right up," the bartender replies, shaking his head in amusement. 

"Thanks, Damian."

"It's only going to make it worse, you know," Damian tells him before disappearing, likely to join up with the version of him that works in the kitchen.

Len's not entirely sure what he means, but Mardon's nodding along. "Good luck," Mardon says before Len can think of a way to react. "I'll look you up in a few days for that job - if I can get past the line at your door, that is!" He roars with laughter.

Len dearly wants to ask what the hell Mardon thinks he's talking about, but he doesn't because Mardon wants to work with him, and that means maintaining an air of competence even when faced with unexpected insinuations of knowledge. 

Mardon drains his drink and salutes Len before heading out the door. Len nods at him, then starts brainstorming what it could possibly mean.

Presumably Mardon's talking about all the people hitting on Len. Maybe the sorceress' malediction backfired off of Mick and onto Len in reverse, making him irresistibly attractive to people instead of making Mick irresistibly attracted to them? But if so, how could Mardon tell? He didn't seem affected. 

Was there some sort of guidebook supernaturals got when they turned? Because damnit, Len needs one of those.

"Pardon me," a chirpy voice says. "I don't mean to interrupt, but that was a most impressive display."

You've got to be kidding. Not another one already.

Shit, if it’s related to the malediction, Len'd better take this to STAR Labs sooner rather than later, embarrassing as it might be.

He turns to tell the guy what's what, then stares. "Do you have a _death wish_?" he asks Mr. Beige-and-Pastels from the day before. "First you come to my door, now you come up to me in a bar? You stalking me or something? Because I _will_ put an end to that, you hear me-"

"I am sorry about yesterday," the guy interrupts apologetically. He still sounds chirpy and cheerful. Len didn’t even know you could sound apologetic and chirpy at the same time. "It was the moon, and I wasn't thinking clearly."

Len would hurt him right now if he wasn't so obviously oblivious. And almost professionally good-natured sounding. He's got to be in some sort of sales position; no one naturally has that type of smooth yet bland cheeriness. Oddly familiar, actually. 

"Don't see how that's my problem," Len points out. 

"I understand entirely, and it's my fault for burdening you at that time -" Well, an apology is always appreciated, Len supposes. "-but I was hoping that we could start again fresh, on a better foot."

People actually say that in real life? Len had thought it was just sitcoms.

Also...

"You remember that I pulled a gun on you, right?" Len asks skeptically. "I don't see why you're so hot and bothered to be making my acquaintance despite that."

"No, no, it was perfectly understandable! You were defending your home base from intruders."

Supernaturals support 'stand your ground' laws; Len is not even a _little_ surprised. Territorial bastards, the whole lot of them - though he guesses it helps to have rapid healing abilities when it comes to forgiving people for being trigger-happy. You forgive a lot more if you’re not dead.

"Uh-huh," Len says, crossing his arms and giving the guy a skeptical look, hoping to convey that this conversation was going nowhere.

Though this guy did keep reminding him of someone he swears he's met before.

The guy coughs a bit. "Yes, well," he says. "That's in the past now. I was just hoping to introduce myself, properly this time - my name is Dan, and I -"

Wait.

Wait a goddamn second.

" _Hotline_ Dan?" Len asks, because that voice is goddamn unmistakable now that the guy’s not high up on moon-day hormones. "What the _fuck_?"

The guy - Dan, freaking family-friendly telemarketer _hotline Dan_ \- looks just as taken aback as Len.

“You’ve called the supernatural assistance line?” he asks, blinking. “Well, that’s forward-thinking of you.”

“We talked _literally_ the day before yesterday! You hung up on me!”

“I _did_?”

Len resists the temptation to say 'Yes! You did!' because he has the feeling that they'd just end up going in circles. "I asked some questions about sexual practices and new mates," he says, pinning hotline Dan with a glare. "You called me a pervert and told me to get stuffed."

Dan blinks rapidly. "I - uh - I mean – well, regardless, it seems to have gone very well for you, I'd say?"

Len's jaw drops a little. This guy is an _idiot_. He's not actually trying to say –

"After all, you and your mate have certainly had a very fruitful and enjoyable full moon, it appears,” Dan says, trying on an ingratiating smile. 

Yes. He's _actually_ trying to comment on Mick and Len's sex life. In _public_. 

Len wonders for a wild moment if him killing the guy would qualify for the Darwin Awards. Surely this counts as an intentional attempt to remove yourself from the gene pool..?

"It's quite obvious he's, ah, treating you well," Dan adds, clearly totally misinterpreting Len's expression and deciding to dig that hole of his a few feet deeper. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea, we can all smell how _thorough_ he was -"

"I showered _twice_ ," Len says, vaguely horrified. It’s not that he cares that people know – he’d be wearing a turtleneck if that were the case, because his neck currently resembles a goddamn disaster zone for how many hickies Mick worked long and hard on – but… _seriously_?

Dan coughs. "Well, it's your first moon," he offers. "After a few, when the mating bond settles down, your scents will merge and it will be less obvious. Well, that or -"

"What's this about the mating thing not having settled?" Len asks, interrupting. He doesn't like the sound of that. He’d thought things were settled – he and Mick were going to keep being excessively co-dependent partners, as Lisa likes to say, except with the addition of regular sex, backrubs and pancakes. Mick's not going with any goddamn pack. "I thought - what more does there need to be?"

Dan blinks. "You don't know?"

"No, I _don't_ know, that's why I'm _asking_ ," Len says. Years of keeping his temper in the face of aggravation are the only reason he’s not ripping off Dan’s head right now. "You're the hotline guy, so talk."

“Huh, I would have thought you would,” Dan says, and seems uninterested in continuing.

Okay, that’s it.

“Well, I don’t, so _why don’t you tell me_?” Len snarls, catching Dan's arm and reeling him in closer. His answers are right in front of him and guess what, hotline Dan? You can't hang up on a guy in person.

"...you're very attractive when you do that," Dan croaks.

"Seriously?!"

"It's not my fault! Mates are measured on a certain scale of desirability and you - well, you're _very_ desirable."

Len scoffs. He knows he's hot; he doesn't need fluffing up. But after the first glance, most people figured out that he was a notorious violent criminal-slash-supervillain and dropped it. The guns and his general misanthropy usually helped with that. "Yeah, to a very specific audience."

"No, generally!" Dan insists, looking surprised. "You must know - to a wolf, you're really something very special."

Len rolls his eyes. Very special, his ass, what sort of pick up line –

"Wait," he says, suspicion rising up in his mind. "Has _everybody_ who's been hitting on me been a wolf?"

"Well, I'd imagine so," Dan says. "You're in competition."

"I'm in _what?!_ "

"A pack is judged by the strength of the wolf and the will of the mate," Dan says. Len vaguely recalls him saying something like that on the phone, but it hadn't seemed all that important, more metaphorical than anything else, really. 

He'd forgotten that to supernaturals, metaphor often _was_ reality. 

"There are a number of established packs in the city," Dan is continuing. "Most wolves are involved in them because of the social instinct, the need to be a part of something, and because the competition between packs is pretty fierce, and violent."

"No shit," Len says. "They're beating out the gangs for the most territorial scuffles this year."

Not to mention the Families themselves, which is pretty impressive. Len never thought he'd see the day when there was any organizations more persnickety about maintaining territory lines than the goddamn Families.

Of course, the fact that the relevant organizations are _werewolf packs_ goes a long way to redeeming it in Len's mind.

The police's as well, since unlike the gangs or the Families, the wolf packs generally fight with tooth and claw, not guns, and had a lot less collateral damage as a result. Really, as long as you didn't run straight into a wolf brawl you could walk down the street across from one without fearing for your life.

Scared the rubes, though. Central City homeowners wondering how to deal, please press one.

"Well, that's the danger in starting a new pack, you see," Dan says. He's incredibly earnest. Almost painfully so. "A new pack with no members starts at the bottom - unless they can find a mate that's strong and proud and willful. That'll give them a leg up."

"You're joking," Len says, unable to resist his skepticism. "Finding a girlfriend - or a boyfriend, or a non-binaryfriend, whatever - is no substitute for strength in numbers."

Dan shrugs. "For wolves, it is," he says. "That's why you're so desirable. You're strong and your will is -" His eyes drift a little closed. "It's really something..."

"You are being used as an information source," Len says. "Nothing more. Stop hitting on me."

"You can’t hold me responsible! You took on another wolf!" Dan protests. "Several, even! By _yourself_!"

"Not in an actual fight,” Len points out, even though he’s got the feeling this argument is well and thoroughly lost.

"Physical strength is only half the story," Dan says dismissively. "The _will_ is what's important - you defended yourself, your homestead, you stood steadfastly by your mate -"

"We've been partners thirty years," Len says. "Well before the werewolf crap. Of course I'm standing by him."

"Most wolves don't have that. It's why he was able to claim you as a mate - a declaration that he's starting a new pack, a brazen challenge to the rest of the wolves in the city, to the established order."

Brazen challenge to the establishment. Yeah, that sounded like Mick.

"And, naturally, the competitive instinct of the remaining wolves gets fueled by that, and everyone simply had to go see you and judge you, to see what sort of pack is being formed."

Len sighs. He remembers Mick said something about showing off Len. He'd thought Mick meant more in the strutting about and preening about getting laid on the regular going forward sense, which he supposes this is just a more elaborate version of.

“And then, of course, you reacted so _excellently_ – it was clear to all who looked that any wolf that won you for their own would be able to form a strong pack, and thus the competition began.”

“Competition for me,” Len says flatly.

“It’s traditional,” Dan says.

“For _me_. Because they want – what? To date me for independence and pack-power? Everyone wants a new pack?”

“Well,” Dan says, flushing a little, “if you were to mate with someone who was already in an _established_ pack, your power would be added to that pack’s power, and therefore there would be a readjustment of the power dynamics regardless…”

“Now you’re definitely fucking with me,” Len says. “You can’t expect me to believe the power dynamics in Central City get reshuffled every time a wolf gets laid.”

“No, no! Just mates. Mates are – it’s different.”

“So why’s the competition for me?” Len asks suspiciously. “Wouldn’t getting Mick to join a pack work just as well?”

“It would,” Dan says. “Though if a wolf has claimed a mate – it’s quite rare, actually, the commitment involved on both sides is immense and necessarily mutual, far more like a marriage than a relationship –”

Len got _werewolf-married_ because of a _sex spell_?

He’s _never_ telling Lisa. 

She’ll die laughing and then resurrect herself just to make sure he never lives it down.

Not that he objects to being married to Mick – they’re already married for tax and testifying purposes, after all, and now they get to add sex to the mix, so no harm, no foul – but still. Something that should’ve probably been mentioned.

Though in fairness, Mick was somewhat distracted at the time...

“– and of course assuming the mate is considered widely desirable, the likelihood of a wolf in the midst of competitive fever, with his focus fixed on pleasing and winning his mate, showing off that he’s the best, would agree to join a pack at that time…”

“Not high,” Len says. “Good.”

“I don’t suppose you would be amenable to meeting a few –”

Len gives Dan a Look.

“…I suppose not.”

“No. Now, one thing I still don’t get. How does dating someone – fine, _marrying_ someone – make you more powerful?”

“It doesn’t,” Dan says. “But if a mate is filled with magical strength -"

"I don't have magic," Len objects. He's one of the few of the Flash's enemies that doesn't, in fact; it's well known. 

"But a wolf does," Dan says. "And it would be reflected in the strength of your character. Not in terms of your virtues as regular civilization would have it," he adds hastily, foreseeing Len's obvious retort. "But in what wolves see as attractive. Your sharp mind, your observant eyes, your ruthlessness, your violence, your protective instinct, your loyalty, your wariness -"

"My paranoia is a selling point now?"

"We're wolves," Dan points out. "We may be men, too, but some of our instincts still harken back to the forest."

"But real wolves don't kill or be killed," Len insists, recalling some of those goddamn Animal Planet/Discovery Channel documentaries Mick's gotten into. "Their structure allows for -"

"That's 'cause we're not real wolves," Mick says, panting a little from exertion, sweating, but grinning broadly. He's clearly the victor - Len can see the other wolf limping away, scowling and nursing his well-deserved injuries. "We’re men, too, and mankind’s the most vicious, territorial bastard species on the planet. What're you talking about?"

"The fact that I'm apparently the newest hot girl in school," Len says dryly.

Mick loops an arm over Len’s shoulder. “That you are,” he says, grinning with a bit of teeth at Dan, who skitters a step or two backwards in a way that even Len can tell is respectful and please-don’t-rip-my-head-off-for-flirting-with-your-mate. “ _My_ hot girl. Or guy. Or neither. However you’re feeling today.”

“And all this apparently has some sort of impact on pack politics in Central,” Len says pointedly.

“We’re going to have the _best_ pack,” Mick says happily, totally missing Len’s attempt to flag to him that maybe they should have _talked about this_. “Relax, Snart; it’s me beating up people who hit on you. You like watching that anyway.”

“Point,” Len concedes. He does like watching that. Mick in action in Len’s defense has always had appeal – almost a feudal sort of feeling, a man fighting in your name and for your (mostly non-existent) honor. 

Yeah, that wasn’t so bad. Len could live with that, a few fights by Mick, giving them time to collect the best pack in the city – like Len would accept anything less than the best – 

Though Len’s not getting caught flat-footed again. He and Mick are going to be having a _long_ chat about what to expect next, and Mick’s not getting out of it with pancakes this time. 

Actually, now that Len thinks about it –

“Say,” he says. “How long is this whole competition thing going to last, anyway? Till the next moon?”

“Oh, no,” Dan says. “A season or two, at least.”

“ _Half a year_?”

Dan nods happily. “Yes, of course,” he says. “Possibly up to a year. Or until you get pregnant, of course, that would quite settle the issue.” 

Len snorts. “Not sure if the competition’s starting to get to your head, but I’m still a guy.”

“And we’re wolves,” Dan says, sounding puzzled. “Supernatural biology utilizes a magical capacity for childbirth in order to enable pregnant individuals to continue fighting without significant impairment; any supernatural being, regardless of gender, is capable of impregnating any other being, regardless of gender.”

"Well, that seems like something that ought to be on the hotline before getting hung up on -" Len starts to say, snide and insulting, before it hits him.

Specifically, the very hot but – he’d assumed – _theoretical_ dirty talk Mick had been pouring into his ear the last few days.

Dirty talk that accompanied the also very hot but very _unprotected_ sex they've been having.

“ _Mick!_ "

"What? What'd I do?"

Len groans. This is going to take a while.


End file.
